


Walk the Line

by TheCorrosivePen



Series: Darkness in My Heart (Dramione) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Did I Mention Angst?, EXTREME SEXUAL TENSION, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 49,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCorrosivePen/pseuds/TheCorrosivePen
Summary: In which Draco isn't good, Hermione isn't smart and everything has consequences.“Merlin.” He shook his head, breaking their stare. When he looked back up, his eyes were ice, no sign of humor or humanity left. “I hope you enjoyed that, Mudblood. It’s never going to happen again.”Hermione’s mouth opened and shut, words failing her. She was still reeling from the riot of desire coursing through her. How could he possibly be so composed now? How could the boy who made her feel like this look at her like that?My take on the HBP rewrite. Complete, sequel As We Are complete as well.





	1. ~*~One~*~

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have read some of my work, this will be darker. 
> 
> I've been trying to find a way to write this story since the late nineties when I fell in love with the Draco/Hermione pairing, long before J.K. Rowling gave us a multifaceted Draco in HBP. It's taken quite a while to reach the point where I feel I can do this story justice. I know this has been done wonderfully by many amazing writers and I loved all of them, but it is finally time to make my own version. Thank you, if you take the time to go on this journey with me.
> 
> -TCP

**~*~One~*~**

 

The last rays of autumn sunlight had long since disappeared from the library desk in front of her, but Hermione Granger hardly noticed. She stared down at her latest potions essay, boring holes into it. Usually writing such essays gave her great satisfaction, but since Harry had found his book of a thousand secrets, her success in potions had fallen to passable and her enthusiasm to nil. She wanted to think she wasn’t motivated by petty things such as being the best, but this latest chapter in the potions experience seemed to indicate otherwise.

Hermione heaved a sigh, leaning back in her chair in exactly the same manner she often chided Ron and Harry against. What did it matter? Slughorn hardly noticed her in comparison to Harry’s bizarre perfection. And did she really want a man whose sole ambition in life was to live vicariously through the success of others to view her as his star student? In any case, he was a welcome change from Snape, who’d spent the past five years turning every success of hers into a forgotten failure.

At least Slughorn didn’t have her on edge every second of class. It was, however, a shame they still shared the lessons with Slytherin, but their numbers had greatly reduced with Snape no longer at the helm. She’d been surprised to see Crabbe and Goyle the first day, they’d definitely not made it to an Exceeds Expectations on their OWLs, but clearly Slughorn was much kinder of heart than his longtime predecessor. Blaise Zabini hadn’t been a surprise at all. In fact, aside from Malfoy, he was Slytherin’s top student in their year. He’d kept his head down for most of their classes and Hermione only knew of his success from stolen glimpses of his scores as Snape handed their parchments back. And then there was Pansy Parkinson, still hanging on Malfoy’s every word, even if he didn’t seem to say much at all these days.

Hermione almost felt sorry for the girl, she’d been pining after him for years now and it was abundantly clear to anyone with half a brain he wasn’t the least bit interested. Of course, this year he didn’t seem interested in anything at all. The biting comments had died with his father’s public imprisonment. She’d only seen him look up once this year and that had been when Slughorn mentioned liquid luck. His steel eyes had danced with something immeasurate before shuttering again and losing focus.

Godric, was she really sitting here in the library thinking about Draco Malfoy? Didn’t she have anything better to do with her life right now? Hermione cleared her throat and rolled her latest essay, tying the parchment closed with a bit of twine from her bag.

She could always go back to the Griffindor common room, but that meant facing Harry and Ron and since they were the whole reason she was sitting here, Hermione was absolutely not doing that. She shuffled through the contents of her bag. She’d already completed all of the essays and the Arithmancy assignment, which left her with no homework to drown in. Shame.

She glanced up at the shelves around her. They were filled with Wizarding history texts, most of which she’d already read. She tipped the chair further back to examine a title she didn’t remember seeing before, _Magic and Spellcasting in The Early Byzantium_. Her chair wobbled precariously as her fingers extended outward, but held long enough for her to grab the book and slam gracelessly back into her seat. Strangled laughter escaped her throat. Wouldn’t do for the brightest witch of her age to die in her chair in the library.

Not that Hermione believed any of the rubbish about her being the brightest witch of her age. Sure, she was cleverer than most of her classmates, but that didn’t mean she believed she was the smartest. That would be daft. There were plenty of other Wizarding schools across the word and Hermione was sure she would meet her match at any of them. Hell, when Malfoy gave his A game, a sight not seen since they’d returned for 6th year, she was definitely on her toes. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. No, her appreciation for his intellect started and ended with that thought. He certainly hadn’t been much of a challenge lately, not that she was complaining.

The floor creaked in the aisle beside her and Hermione ducked her head to peer between the stacks. Usually the place was deathly quiet at this hour, so naturally she was curious as to who shared the idea of a late Saturday night in the library. For a moment all she saw was a set of thick black robes. Then there was a flash of platinum blond that begged no question as to the identity of her companion.

Hermione jerked back, as if shocked, before she slowly leaned forward to peek around the edge of an oversized history tome. His back was still to her, his hands running frantically over the texts in front of him. He reached the end of the row and let out an exasperated sigh, his hand gripping his hair in a manner reminicent of Harry.

She squinted, attempting to determine which titles he was searching. She hadn’t been down that aisle in a month or so and the section name eluded her.

“Bloody hell, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Malfoy’s voice hissed across the silent library. She leaned closer, too caught up in identifying his search to give heed to her own safety. After all, it was just Malfoy. She’d punched him the face before and there was no way she was going to be intimidated by him now, regardless of Harry’s hair brained idea that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

He turned to search the row to his left, finally allowing Hermione a glance at the titles. All the texts appeared to be innocuous charmed objects books that she’d read through by the time she was in third year. Nothing nefarious to be found outside the restricted section anyway, she reasoned.

Malfoy continued his journey down the stacks, moving further away from her. She watched him closely for several more minutes, but despite some creative cursing and despondent hair pulling, nothing happened. At last she sighed and turned back to her bag.

It had been coming on nine when Malfoy entered her section and Harry and Ron would look for her if she wasn’t back soon. She shook her head, causing her mass of curls to dance around her. That was the last thing she wanted. There was no way she wanted Harry anywhere near Malfoy these days. He was disturbingly obsessed with the Slytherin boy and Hermione was sure nothing but disaster would strike if he found Malfoy searching the library. Heaven forbid the blond wanted to find some charms text. Rolling her eyes, she made her way out of the stacks.

“Going somewhere, Mudblood?”

The snarled words stopped her in her tracks. She slowly turned her head, finding silver eyes flashing as he leaned against the stacks, clearly awaiting her departure.

“What’s it to you?” She tried to keep her voice even. She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t.

He slid closer, the edge of his school jumper sliding against her blouse. His eyes narrowed further, searching her features with an urgency that surprised her. “See anything interesting, Mudblood?”

The word almost sounded like an endearment on his tongue. She glanced up at him, resolutely holding his simmering gaze. He took a step closer, towering over her. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe Harry was right, maybe Malfoy was in deeper than she’d imagined. Maybe she ought to be afraid.

“Sod off, Malfoy.” She forced the words out, praying he wouldn’t notice the sweat gathering on her brow or the trembling of her wand in her hand. She moved into him, intending to brush past and end whatever strange impasse they’d reached, but his hand latched on to her shoulder before she’d even shifted her weight. His palm seared through her blouse branding her with heat.

Hermione had always imagined he’d be cold, but he burned instead. Her mouth dropped open in a small gasp and he smirked at her, his full lips twisting. “I ask again, going somewhere, Mudblood?”

She wanted to spit in his face, to stomp on his toe, to hex him to oblivion, but instead she was petrified. Her eyes danced in circles across his face, trying to find the key to her freedom, but aside from the hideous smirk, his visage betrayed nothing.

Malfoy dipped his face closer to hers. Now she could feel the hot torrent of his breath across her cheek as his lips dropped to her ear. “Not so brave now, are you, Mudblood?”

Once again the word sounded wrong, more endearing than derisive. Her stomach turned and Hermione ground her teeth, refusing to him the pleasure of a reaction. She felt him smile against her ear. “It’s okay, Mudblood. I’m not going to do anything.” He paused, moving fully into her space. Her breath caught despite her best efforts. She could feel him pressed against her from hip to shoulder, his head now resting against her own.

“Yet.”

The word reverberated through her as he drew away, silver eyes slashing through her defenses one last time before he spun away and stalked out the of the library, taking every bit of her self-respect with him.

Hermione fell back against the bookcase, sinking down until she was sprawled on the ground. Her skin was suddenly cold in the absence of his catastrophic heat. Shivers ran up and down her spine as her hands shook uncontrollably where they lay on her lap.

What had happened? Why had he touched her like that, whispered in her ear? Harry was right. He was different now, more dangerous than before. A frown drew her lips down as she realized neither of them had thought to use their wands. She’d completely forgotten she was a witch, let alone that he was a wizard.

She glanced to the side, her wand lay discard on the floor. She couldn’t even remember when she’d dropped it. Hermione took a gulping breath. He’d had her defenseless, entirely at his mercy and yet all he’d done was talk to her. He could have done anything. But he hadn’t.

When her hands were finally stable enough to clutch her wand securely, she rose carefully to her feet. She slung her bag over her shoulder as she faced the library doors. She was sure Malfoy was already long gone, but her sense of security was shattered and she no longer trusted her instincts. She strode silently toward the door, keeping her wand poised for attack as she crossed the silent room.

Madam Pince was quietly reading in her study, door cracked. Hermione wondered if she’d heard anything. It was doubtful. Draco hadn’t been loud during his search of the charms section, despite the cursing, and he’d been downright silent before accosting her. She shook her head and raised a hand in greeting as Madam Pince glanced her way. The librarian pursed her lips, but returned the gesture.

The trip back up to the Griffindor Tower was eventless and Hermione thanked whatever stars had allowed her to make it back to her bunk in safety. She went through her bedtime routine on autopilot, silver eyes chasing her every move. Even as she began to drift away, safely ensconced beneath her covers, _Mudblood_ caressed her ear, his breath still searing through her.


	2. ~*~ Two~*~

**~*~ Two~*~**

 

Autumn rushed headlong into winter and Hermione found herself thinking of the strange encounter with Malfoy in the library less and less. He’d been a saint in potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts and their other shared classes. The spark that she’d seen burn so bright that evening seemed to be well and thoroughly extinguished. He’d barely looked at her and when he did it was like he was a million miles away, captive to his own thoughts.

Harry and Ron had hardly paid him any heed, although Harry hadn’t faltered in his theory that Malfoy was the newest member of the Death Eaters. Where she had doubted him before, now she couldn’t help but wonder if Harry was right. Even so, she’d kept the encounter to herself, not willing or able to share the disturbing event with Harry, Ron or Ginny. She had, however, done her best to stay out of his way.

Harry had finally confessed what Dumbledore needed his help to find. A memory Slughorn had of something called a Horcrux. Apparently a young Tom Riddle had been able to find references to them in the restricted section. Neither Slughorn nor Dumbledore had been willing to give Harry a free pass to the restricted section. Dumbledore for reasons beyond her and Slughorn because “Harry was already the top of his class.” Hermione had charmed one out of Slughorn, claiming a need for a potions extra credit homework. The old professor hadn’t seemed to grasp that she was a close enough friend of Harry’s to be on the Horcrux memory hunt and had given it with a smile and an invitation to the next Slug Club meeting.

So here she was, poking through the restricted section, trying her best to overturn the same tome Tom Riddle had found all those years ago. She suspected Dumbledore had likely removed the book, but it never hurt to check and see if there were others he’d overlooked.

Hermione clambered onto a stool in the corner and began to pour through a section on cursed artifacts and their origins. Harry still didn’t know what a Horcrux did, only that it was dark piece of magic that required an even darker art to construct.

“Fancy finding you among the dark arts section, Mudblood.”

She nearly fell off the stool, her legs suddenly buckling as she swung to face him. Malfoy stood a reasonable distance away, looking up at her with a distant expression. She shifted to sit more properly on the stool and stared down at him. “For a potions project.”

“Ah.” He moved several steps closer until he stood directly below her. His wand twirled idly between his fingers as he eyed the books beyond her. “Then I’m afraid you have the wrong section, this one seems to be devoted to cursed artifacts and their creation.”

She glared down at him. Damn him and his intellect. Neither Harry nor Ron would have bothered to verify her story. “I…” she trailed off. He knew she was lying and why did she care, anyway? “Malfoy, as lovely as this is, can you move and let me be on my way?”

His silver eyes seared into her for several excruciating moments before he backed away. “Fine by me, Mudblood.”

She frowned, it was unlike him to cave so easily, but she could tell he was distracted. His eyes were now flitting about the stacks, searching. Her curiosity piqued, she changed direction from the restricted section exit, instead dropping her bag by the potions shelf.

She felt his eyes once again boring into her. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Don’t Potty and Weasel need to be babysat or something?”

Hermione refused to turn and face him. “I have a potions project to work on.”

“Couldn’t you work on it any other time?”

His voice sounded oddly agitated. Caving to curiosity, she swung back around. He was still standing by the stepladder, but his attention was now directed fully at Hermione.

“Now’s as good a time as any,” she insisted.

In two steps his wand was probing her jugular, his breath radiating across her face. “Get out of here, Mudblood.”

Ah, at least this time he’d remembered they were wizards. Her wand poked forcefully into his sternum. “I think not.”

His eyes drifted downward to her wand and back up, a lazy smirk suddenly painting his features. “What are you going to do, Mudblood? Hit me with a pretty little hex?”

She swallowed and stared back at him refusing to back down. He was right of course. Hermione Granger didn’t go cursing students in the library, even if that student was suspected Death Eater Draco Malfoy. “I can hold my own,” she grit out.

“I highly doubt that,” he murmured, his wand digging deeper into her neck. “Whatever shall I do with you, Mudblood?” The tip of his wand retreated as he moved it to trace the curve of her face. His eyes followed the movement, sweeping across her face and then dropping as he lowered his wand to trace her arm. He let it continue to fall until his wand rested against hers. Burning silver eyes locked with hers he murmured “ _Diffindo_.”

Hermione gasped as blood suddenly poured from her hand, her wand now slick from the jagged wound along her palm. Malfoy didn’t blink; he merely watched her blood drip down between them. She couldn’t break away from him; it was as if the spell had not only cut through her flesh, but her senses too. After too long, he turned away, wiping his bloody hand on his cloak.

“You should probably go tend to that, don’t want to get mudblood all over the floor, do we?”

His voice brought her back to reality. Hermione grabbed her bloody wand with her left and tapped the wound on her right. “ _Episkey_. What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?”

If their last encounter had left her terrified, this one confused her, sending her mind spinning to places yet undiscovered. He’d hurt her, but not badly, and she had no idea what to make of it. She knew he had a whole arsenal of more painful and deadly spells at his disposal, but he’d merely cut her hand. He could have killed her, cursed her or anything else, but he’d made her bleed instead. Her heart thundered in her chest, as something deep within gave way. She choked out a sob before rising to her feet, never losing sight of his silver orbs. Bewilderment mixing with fury she slammed into him, unable to stop the eruption.

“You want my blood, Malfoy? Fine! Have it! _Diffindo_!” The cut ran again, but she barely felt the sting of it. She found his hair first, her palm coating it a severe shade of red. Then she was shoving her hands across his face, leaving bloody handprints on his cheeks. She didn’t pause as she reached his shirt, raking her bloody hands with maddened glee down his pristine white shirt before falling to kneel before him. Her voice was broken mess she hardly recognized as she spoke, “Is this what you wanted?”

He stared down at her, mouth agape and eyes blown wide. Maniacal laughter shuddered through her, his shock only making her laugh harder. She grabbed one of his hands, interlacing their fingers as she watched her blood spill down his wrist.

“You’re mad,” he murmured, jerking away from her. “Bloody mad.”

Sobs intermingled with her laughter now. “I’m bloody mad? You’re the one who thinks my blood is mud! Look at you! All red from head to toe and not a drop of mud to be found.”

He’d backed away from her now, standing against the bookshelf with a look of pure disgust on his face. His wand waved and suddenly the blood was gone, from her, from him, from the books, from the floor. “Stay the hell away from me, Granger,” he hissed.

Tears began to coat her face as she backed away from him. What in the world had gotten into her? He looked genuinely disturbed and she couldn’t blame him. She’d scared herself. Her breaths coming as heavy heaves, she murmured, “I’m sorry,” before she fled, not stopping until she was locked in a prefects’ bath and she could finally let the sobs devour her small frame.


	3. Three

**~*~Three~*~**

 

The week after their encounter in the restricted section was nearly unbearable. Hermione yearned to tell someone what had happened, but she didn’t dare share. Harry and Ron were too judgmental, ready to jump down her throat the minute she said Malfoy’s name. Ginny was an option, but lately all she her time was spent snogging in dark corners with Dean Thomas. Honestly, Hermione didn’t trust Ginny to truly listen either. Luna was often joined them at meals, but Hermione couldn’t imagine telling the perpetually off kilter Ravenclaw anything of importance, let alone what she’d done to Draco Malfoy.

Hermione didn’t understand what had happened and she knew that somewhere during those five fateful minutes in the restricted section, she’d crossed a line. There was no going back, not when she’d painted Draco Malfoy red with blood. Punching him seemed like child’s play in comparison. So instead of sharing and parsing her experience, it twisted in ever-tighter knots within her mind.

Malfoy certainly hadn’t been in the right, but Hermione hadn’t been either. It was perhaps the first time that she clearly knew she hadn’t done the right thing. The knowledge sat poorly with her, festering under the surface, chasing away sleep every time her head hit the pillow. She wanted it to be easy, a simple fix, but there was no fixing this.

For his part, Malfoy had stayed away from her. He’d been even more reserved than usual in classes. She didn’t think she’d heard him speak since their encounter. It was probably for the best since she had no idea what she would say to him if he did confront her. _Sorry Malfoy, I seem to have lost my mind for a minute there_ likely wouldn’t do the trick.

What had she been trying to prove anyway? That her blood was just as red as his? He was intelligent enough to have known that for years now, even if he clung to the word Mudblood like it was his only hope. And maybe it was. With his father in Azkaban there wasn’t much left for him. The Malfoy family name was disgraced, substantiated by the fact that neither he nor his mother had appeared publicly since the trial. When they’d seen mother and son in Diagon Alley, it had been clear that neither wanted to catch the attention of other shoppers.

Hermione shifted in her seat, attempting to pay attention to the Quidditch match playing out before her. Luna had gone all out with her lion head, but Hermione couldn’t quite match her enthusiasm. It didn’t help that Harry had slipped the felix felicis into Ron’s juice at breakfast. Every catch was merely a stroke of luck and while she was glad Ron was having the time of his life, she knew it wouldn’t last. Not that she wanted Cormac to be their next Keeper. That would be infinitely worse.

She sighed as Ron stopped another quaffle and Lavender Brown screeched hysterically behind her. Slytherin were managing to put up a good fight, but she knew it would be over as soon as Harry glimpsed the snitch. Without Malfoy as Seeker, the Slytherin team was hardly a threat.

Had Malfoy chosen to forgo his position because of his father’s imprisonment? Or maybe something else. Maybe that same something that kept his eyes bloodshot and his gaze distant. Maybe he really was the next Death Eater. She groaned and forced herself to clap along with Luna as Griffindor scored. She really needed to stop thinking about him. He’d already sent her brain into overdrive, spending more time on him would likely drive her insane.

Hermione made sure to focus on the game for the final hour, clapping and cheering exactly like a good Griffindor should. As expected, Harry caught the snitch within seconds of seeing it and the whole team merrily made their way back to the common room, glowing with their first victory of the season. Hermione sidled up to Harry as the chants of Weasley continued from their housemates.

Harry’s lips twitched in a half smile and he held his hands up. “Before you say anything, I didn’t actually do it.”

She blinked at him. “Do what?” He flashed the vial of felix felicis at her from his shirt pocket. She laughed, “So it really was just him?”

“Just Ron,” Harry confirmed.

“Thank goodness, I was really worried you’d done something rash,” she admitted.

Harry just smiled, “I am smarter than I look. At least most of the time.”

She threw an arm around his shoulders and beamed. For the first time that week, her chest felt light, free from the chaos that had drawn her down. She turned her attention to the coffee table Ron was standing on, still basking in the glory of his successful match. His eyes briefly met hers and her heart stilled, then jumped. If possible, she felt even lighter, like the world was suddenly full of endless possibility.

Lavender broke through the crowd from the other side and before Hermione could blink Ron’s lips were mashed with hers, his eyes instantly shuttering. Her stomach did an unpleasant backflip and then her eyes were full of unwanted moisture. Reeling, she backed away, heedless of where she stepped. Nobody noticed, Ron and Lavender now the center of raucous chants and jeers.

Clutching her chest, she fled the room, slamming the portrait hole behind her. Her feet moved without her mind, climbing and climbing endless stairs until she broke free from the oppression of the castle to gasp the clean air of the astronomy tower. She collapsed against the edge, nearly tumbling over the railing before a strong hand pulled her back to safety.

“We meet again.”

She blinked with incomprehension, trying to place the voice and identify the speaker through the watery film covering her eyes. In the end it was his voice she understood. She could never forget that deep, refined tenor that ghosted across her memory more often than was healthy.

“Malfoy?”

He’d let go of her wrist as soon as she was back on solid ground, but her legs felt like jelly beneath her. Without his support, she collapsed to the cold stone, limbs sprawling. He stood silently above her for an infinite moment before sinking to the ground beside to her, his arms resting on his knees as he stared up at the gathering storm.

Her heart was pounding a million beats a minute and all rational thought had abandoned her. Malfoy had just saved her, helped her, and now he was sitting next to her as if it was the most normal thing in the world. As if she hadn’t smeared her blood all over him. As if he didn’t despise her and everything she stood for.

An image of Ron and Lavender floated across her consciousness again and she couldn’t help the flinch that followed. She’d been so sure that Ron knew, that he understood she was ready, but one lip lock and that was all gone. She let her head drop back against the parapets and watched the snow fall.

They sat there, silently, until the snow was thick upon their coats and the silence became natural. In the end, it was Hermione that spoke first.

“I’m sorry.”

His head lolled toward her from his skyward vigil. “For what?”

“For…” she trailed off. She’d wanted this apology, yearned for it in the sleepless nights, but speaking it made it real, made her real.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” his silver eyes matched the clouds above. “I’ve been a right arse to you.”

“But you didn’t cover me in blood.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “No, Granger, I did not do that.”

She sighed, looking back up. “I don’t suppose you’re going to apologize.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, some of his usual ire finding its way back. “It’s not my fault you’re genetically inferior.”

Normally such a statement would instantly raise her hackles, but Hermione was tired. “Don’t you have anything better to insult me with? Is it really just my blood status that annoys you?”

“Your blood status is abhorrent to me,” he corrected, his tone blander than the statement would indicate. “The rest of you,” he glanced over at her now, his eyes gleaming in a way that sent her pulse racing. “The rest of you is more than satisfactory.”

She raised a brow at him. “Did you just compliment me?”

Malfoy glowered at her for a long moment before muttering, “Maybe.”

“Is there any particular reason you’re not trying to send my corpse off the astronomy tower?” She’d resisted the urge to ask long enough.

He shrugged, his broad shoulders sending snow to the stone below. “Tired. I’ll have to murder you another day, Mudblood.”

“Gee, thanks,” she murmured. “You certainly know a way to a girl’s heart.”

“Why was Griffindor’s golden girl attempting to throw herself off the astronomy tower. I mean it would have made my life a lot easier if you just flung yourself off and had done with it.”

There was a hint of humor behind his eyes that she’d never seen before. It almost made him look human. Usually the aristocratic lines of his face were too severe to be anything but cold marble. “If I recall correctly you’re the one that stopped the flinging.”

“Hmm, so I did. Poor choice.” The sun had begun to sink below the horizon and his hair glowed with an angelic light. Hermione stifled a groan. He had no right to look so perfect. She’d long ago made peace with the fact that Draco Malfoy was absurdly attractive, but the acidic veneer had never given her a reason to look twice.

She watched the sun drops further instead. Only when the last rays had died beyond the horizon did she break the silence. “Lavender kissed Ron.”

His brow knit as he stared at her. “I’m honestly not a big fan of Griffindor gossip.”

Hermione let out a breath of air, rolling her eyes. “Neither am I. You asked what made me come up here. That’s the answer.”

“You’re upset about Weasley kissing that skank?” Incredulity coated his every word. “You have got to be kidding, Mudblood, even you can do better than Weasley.”

Her cheeks flushed at the statement. She’d only ever done Victor Krum and that was hardly comparable. She’d considered muggle boys while home for the summer, but with the return of Voldemort it had seemed petty to want a stolen snog session.

Malfoy’s head dipped and his eyes scanned her face, his eyebrows slowly rising. “You’ve never had a proper snogging, have you Mudblood?”

She barely heard the insult at the end of the sentence. Her focus was locked on his eyes, now gleaming dangerously in the twilight. “So what if I haven’t?”

“You’re bloody sixteen, you should have had more than a peck on the cheek from Victor Krum.”

Hermione’s gaze dropped his mouth for some wholly unfathomable reason. Her pulse was racing and she could feel the heat growing in her cheeks. What was she doing? This was Malfoy. He’d called her a Mudblood less than thirty seconds ago. She could not possibly be considering touching him, especially like that. His lips grew into a smirk before his tongue drew slowly across his bottom lip, her eyes following the motion like a moth to the flame.

His gloved hand splayed across her cheek, gently tipping her head back. Hermione’s eyes jumped up to meet his, searching desperately for some sign, for something beyond the butterflies swarming in her stomach. He didn’t blink, keeping his silver eyes locked with hers until his breath was dancing with her own, his lips mere millimeters from hers. It was Hermione that closed the gap, surging up to him, driven by a force more primal than she’d ever experienced.

Malfoy’s lips were soft, supple, as they massaged hers. Her nerves had transcended, a wall of pleasure driving past all else. Without willing them to move, her hands were tangled in his hair, grasping the silken locks with abandon. A groan tore from his lips before his tongue slid along her lips, begging and receiving entrance.

Her moans coated the air around them, heat rushing to places that had never before felt alive. This was nothing like Victor Krum. This was hot and messy and feral. She was addicted. Soon it wasn’t just Malfoy invading her, but her delving within him. His hands were hot on her hips as she swung a leg over, her body grinding down in ways she’d never dreamed of. She wanted all of him, now. She didn’t care who he was, how he’d treated her, she wanted him before all reason. She needed him.

As she ground down again, he let out a strangled moan and pulled her away from him, setting her back against the parapets. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair. His dilated pupils stared back at her, his lips deliciously swollen.

“Merlin.” He shook his head, breaking their stare. When he looked back up, his eyes were ice, no sign of humor or humanity left. “I hope you enjoyed that, Mudblood. It’s never going to happen again.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and shut, words failing her. She was still reeling from the riot of desire coursing through her. How could he possibly be so composed now? How could the boy who made her feel like this look at her like that?

He pushed to his feet. “I think I’ve had my fill of Mudblood for the night. Try not to fall off, I won’t be there to catch you next time.”

With that he spun on his heel. She watched him disappear down the stairs, never looking back. She felt as if she’d been cleaved in two, her other half disappearing with his platinum hair. Forget the temporary pain of Ron’s kiss with Lavender, this was catastrophic. Her skin was begging to feel his touch again, her lips already feeling the ghost of his. Goderic, she was desperate for another taste of Draco bloody Malfoy. Her whole body trembled with desire as she remembered him against her. His scent, a mix of mahogany and cedar, clung to her every pore.

She gasped in the bitter air, glad for the chill against her throat. It grounded her, told her she was still alive, despite the wound tearing open within her soul. She’d thought she wanted Ron, thought she understood what brought couples to paw at each other in dark corners of the school, but she’d been terribly wrong. She couldn’t imagine herself with Ron like she’d just been with Malfoy. Her breath stuttered as she realized he could have done anything to her, here in the snow atop the astronomy tower, and she wouldn’t have protested. Despite everything she knew about him, her body had surrendered.

Hermione wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them tightly to her chest. She was here, she was safe, and she hadn’t given anything to him. But she would. Tears painted her cheeks. Why him? Why did he do this to her? What made it such that only he could make her feel such extremes?

The tears flowed silently as she rocked herself, heedless of the growing chill. After a long time with nothing but swirling snow for company, she jumped at Harry’s voice.

“Hermione?” He knelt down beside her. “Oh god, are you okay? I couldn’t find you when you left the tower, I’ve been looking all night!”

She smiled dimly between breaths, “Didn’t think to check the Marauder’s Map?”

“Ugh, blimey. I didn’t even think of that.”

Not that she was upset he hadn’t. If he’d found her here with Malfoy it would be… even worse. Harry wouldn’t understand and she wouldn’t expect him to. She hardly could believe it herself.

“C’mon, Ron and Lavender are long gone and I saved a few pieces of cake for you and a butterbeer.” He held out his hand to her and she was suddenly overwhelming glad to have a friend like him. He might not understand, but he was here and she could trust that Harry, at least, wouldn’t be letting her down today.

Hermione held clasped his hand as she rose, holding tighter and longer than necessary. Harry merely smiled down at her as they made their way into the warmth of the castle.


	4. Four

**~*~Four~*~**

 

            She was trying to listen to Slughorn, honestly, but Hermione couldn’t seem to go ten seconds without feeling the near irresistible urge to look at Draco Malfoy. It had been ten days since the night on the astronomy tower and it hadn’t gotten any easier. Her body was now hypersensitive to his every move. She knew the minute he entered a room and the minute he left. She could feel if his eyes rested on her, if only for the briefest of seconds. In short, Hermione was going crazy.

            She’d spent all last night doing every inch of parchment due for the next week and half of class just to avoid trying to sleep. Falling asleep consisted of an assault of memories of him, everything from the wrath in his eyes as he stalked away to the hitch of his breath as she moaned against him. If she somehow managed to get past all of that and actually surrender to slumber, her dreams were filled with him. She would wake up to the taste of him in her mouth and scent of mahogany strangling her senses. She’d thought about trying dreamless sleep more and more, but still held out hope that she’d simply get over him. With each passing day, her hope faded a bit more, but maybe, just maybe she could finally put Draco Malfoy behind her.

            If only Hermione didn’t have to see him, or feel the weight of his eyes brush past her. If only Slughorn hadn’t decided today was the best day to strike up new friendships and cross the barriers between houses. She supposed she was lucky not to be with Crabbe or Goyle, but why couldn’t it have been Blaise Zabini? He was nice enough. Or at least he hadn’t shoved his tongue down her throat and then told her to go die within the last two weeks.

            And now that she was paired with Malfoy, the urge to stare at him was nearly impossible to resist. Somehow she’d managed to get all the ingredients down, but she’d written step three twice. Biting her lip forcefully she stared back up at the board. Sleeping Draught, final color dark purple. Ingredients to collect: lavender, valarian leaf, and flobberworm mucus, all to be added to the starter potion they’d brewed themselves the previous lesson.

            Hermione considered the chances of being able to swipe some of the potion at the end of class. Malfoy would bloody well notice, but she wasn’t sure she gave a damn about that anymore. He’d already tied her into a thousand knots, what was one more?

            He cleared his throat from where he sat beside her, but she refused to acknowledge the gesture. She scribbled down the last of the steps before finally angling toward him. She was careful not to meet his gaze, instead staring at a point slightly beyond his right ear.

            “I’ll crush the valerian and the lavender if you’ll get the right amount of flobberworm mucus.” She was proud her voice didn’t crack or waver.

            “I think I’ll leave you with the dirtier task, Mudblood. You get the mucus, I’ll do the valarian and lavender.” His tone was even, but she felt the sting of his words nonetheless. She swallowed, fighting the urge to rail against him.

            “Fine,” she replied in a clipped tone. Whatever made it easier for her to increase the distance between them. Even now, with him treating her as horribly as ever, she could hardly stop herself from reaching out and running her fingers across his smooth cheek and burying them in his angelic hair. Her chair clanged as she shot to her feet to gather the mucus. The stuff was vile and maybe it would help clear her head.

            Measuring out the mucus in short order, she glanced back at their station. Malfoy was staring directly at her, his silver eyes prying into her soul. Hermione’s steps faltered and she bounced off a desk before resuming her gait. His full lips twitched in silent amusement, causing a rush of undesired heat. She resolutely refocused on the point above his ear.

            He’d make quick work of the lavender and valerian, so she looked over her directions again. Malfoy leaned over her shoulder, his breath ghosting deliciously across her neck. She fought to remain unaffected as his finger snaked around to hover over her list.

            “You wrote step three twice and forgot steps seven and eight entirely.” He didn’t sound critical or cold, rather as if he were commenting on the weather.

            “And you wrote any of them down?”

            He snorted, “Hardly, but I was expecting more from you.”

            Frowning, she rewrote the steps on a fresh piece of parchment. “I’m tired.”

            Suddenly he was too close, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved at all. She could feel his laugh against her neck. “Griffindor’s golden girl is human after all.”

            She flung herself away from him, heedless of the scraping of her chair and the puzzled looks of her classmates. She tried to paste a neutral expression on her face, but across the room Harry was now eyeing her with definite worry. Hermione shook her head at him. This was one time where Harry would only make it worse.

            “Let’s just get this done.” Her voice held more conviction that she felt, but Malfoy retreated back to his side of the potions bench, amusement still tugging at his lips.

            “If you insist,” he allowed, turning his attention to her list. “Wouldn’t want your insecurities to get in the way of our grade.”

            “Like you give a damn about your grades this year,” she shot back before she could think better of it. His head snapped up to stare back at her, his eyes filling with emotion for a second before ice stole around their edges.

            His mouth twisted into his signature smirk. “So nice to know you care, Mudblood.”

            “I don’t,” she insisted. And really, she shouldn’t, but ever since their first encounter in the library she’d been unable to stop watching him. In the past month she’d seen him turn in maybe two assignments. There was no way his marks were going to be as good as hers this year.

            He shrugged carelessly. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to go to sleep at night.”

            Hermione wondered if he’d noticed the bags beneath her eyes or her bloodshot eyes. She’d tried a few charms to cover up the signs of her restless nights, but anyone with a keen eye could likely see right through them. Then again, he didn’t seem to give a bloody shit about her, so why would he bother to look?

            Her frustration simmered beneath the surface. Who was he to send her entire world off axis and somehow remain unscathed himself? She could barely share the same air with him, but he seemed perfectly unaffected. It wasn’t fair, if she was going to go crazy, he damn well better be going down with her.

            This thought led somewhere dangerous indeed. So far she’d been trying to avoid him, too preoccupied with escaping the pain and frustration in the aftermath of their night on the astronomy tower. She’d rolled over and bloody died, leaving him to revel in her distress.

            Hermione eyed him as he mixed the lavender into the potion, stirring 27 times clockwise and then 33 counterclockwise. What if she flipped the script? What if he got a dose of his own medicine? It was absolutely insane, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

            Against all her better judgment, she slipped her school sweater over her head, letting hang off the back of her chair. “Bloody hot in here isn’t it?”

            Malfoy glanced over at her, a frown stretching across his face. “If you say so.”

            Her hands loosened her tie before beginning their work on the buttons below. He’d stopped stirring the potion, his silver eyes darkening as they followed her motions. She fought back the grin that threatened to escape. So he wasn’t as unaffected as he’d seemed. She crossed her legs, making sure her skirt travelled higher than necessary.

            Hermione had absolutely no idea what she was doing, but she’d seen Lavender use each of the methods on Ron and those had seemed to work with great result. Malfoy was back to stirring the cauldron, but pale pink stained his angled features. “What the bloody hell are you playing at, Mudblood?”

            She blinked innocently back at him. “What?”

            “You bloody well know what,” he snapped, adding the valerian with more force than necessary.

            She slid her chair closer to him, leaning down to ‘inspect’ the potion. His eyes snapped to her chest for a moment before he stared resolutely back at the potion. Oh, this was fun. Why hadn’t she ever considering do this before? The sane part of her mind told her it was because she wasn’t a bimbo with the brainpower of a squid.

            “Button your fucking shirt, Granger,” he growled, the primal sound sending heat between her legs.

            “But it’s hot,” she insisted, a smile tugging at her lips.

            “It’s bloody well not. It’s barely even above freezing in this damn classroom,” He hissed back.

            Malfoy was right, of course. She could feel the goosebumps gathering on her arms and legs, but there was no way she was giving up now. “Well I’m hot.”

            His eyes snapped to meet her own, a shadow of the desire she remembered from the tower hovering behind his gaze. Good, she wanted him to yearn for her. She needed him to feel the pain of those nights of lost sleep piling up until there was barely consciousness during the day.

            “Stop it, Mudblood.” His words were full of venom, but his eyes seared into her.

            “No,” she murmured, her breath skating across his ear. She could hardly believe her boldness, but his reaction was well worth the risk. He tensed against the desk, staring back at her with hungry eyes.

            “Ingredients closet,” he muttered.

            “Now?”

          His breath hitched as he moved past her, his chest brushing against her back. “Yes, bloody now.”

           Hermione followed him, risking a glance at Harry and Ron. Ron was making faces as Blaise explained something on the parchment in front of them while Harry was stuck trying to guide Lavender through the correct stirring process. Neither looked up as she followed Malfoy across the room. Slughorn was too busy trying to save Neville and Crabbe from disaster to notice anything at all.

            Malfoy was against her the moment the door to the closet clicked shut. His mouth was demanding as ever and she let herself melt into him. This was the drug she craved, just the feel of him pressing against her, his tongue writing dangerous stories across hers. His hands were everywhere, his chilled fingers leaving trails of fire as they probed beneath her shirt. It was all she could do to keep up with him, gasping for breath when his lips began to travel in a sinful path down her neck. He didn’t stop when he reached her unbuttoned blouse, instead tearing at her shirt until the remaining buttons danced on the floor.

            His mouth was hot on her chest, his tongue lapping at her skin. Hermione’s legs were shaking and only her desperate grip on his shoulders kept her from collapsing. His hair was mussed from her hands, his mouth sinfully bruised. He paused a moment as his tongue circled her naval, his eyes promising her destruction.

            “Please…” The word was barely as whisper as she clawed at his shoulders.

            “Please what, Mudblood?”

            Hermione was beyond caring about the insult. “Please don’t stop.”

            His lips twisted into a wicked smirk. “What do you want, Mudblood?”

            She shook her head. She had no idea what to ask for. Malfoy was the beginning and the end of her experience with this level of ecstasy. He trailed a hand up her leg, his fingers just barely caressing the inside of her thigh. They stopped mere millimeters from the apex of her thighs, causing her to tremble, her legs barely holding their ground.

            “Do you want me to touch you, Mudblood?” His voice was deep, perilous and promising. She nodded fervently. “Tell me.”

            Her lips were raw as she forced the words out, “Please don’t stop. Please… touch me.”

            He didn’t disappoint. His fingers deftly maneuvered beneath the cotton, drawing a harsh moan as they swept over her. He shifted to give himself better access, never taking his hypnotizing gaze from her face. He worked his agile fingers in ways she’d never imagined until Hermione was shuddering against him, his silver eyes ushering her across the threshold of pleasure.

            She clung to Malfoy, unsure of what to do. She’d never felt that before, never lost herself so completely to another. His wand waved and the wetness coating his hand disappeared. She grabbed what remained of her shirt from the floor beside them, transfiguring it back to its original state. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes held the answer to a thousand of her prayers. He stood silently beside her, not quite touching, not quite moving away.

            They both jumped as the closet door flung open. Slughorn stared at them briefly before muttering under his breath as he moved away. She was sure their encounter was clear in their state of disarray, but it appeared Slughorn wasn’t interested in acknowledging their trespass, a fact she was eternally grateful for.

            Malfoy backed away, head shaking. “Stay the hell away from me, Mudblood.”

            Indignation shot through Hermione. “It takes two to tango, Malfoy.”

            His hands clawed through his hair. “Just bloody stay away.”

            She watched him retreat, her pulse finally beginning to slow.


	5. Five

**~*~Five~*~**

 

Through a series of completely understandable mistakes leading to one truly disastrous conclusion, Hermione had ended up with Cormac McLaggen at Slughorn’s holiday gathering, shindig, or whatever else it was the old man chose to call it. She’d asked him out of spite, knowing he was interested due to the overt leering that had begun at the quidditch tryouts. It had seemed simple at the time. Ron was currently being divested of all of his self respect by Lavender and well, it’s not like she was going to show up with Draco bloody Malfoy on her arm. It turned out that Harry was the obvious solution, one she thought of too late in the process to avert the coming disaster.

She’d told herself McLaggen couldn’t possibly be that bad. She’d been wrong. Where Malfoy’s heated stares made her want to melt, Cormac’s made her want to curse him and then vomit. Maybe he was trying too hard. Or maybe, even worse, Malfoy had ruined men for her.

Hermione had paid more attention when Lavender, Parvati and some of the other girls gossiped about their clandestine encounters. Listening to the bint yap about Ron hadn’t been the most fun, but she’d quickly gleamed that the intensity of her encounters with Malfoy were effectively impossible, a once in a lifetime sort of deal. She’d done her best to look for exceptions, perking up when one of the 5th years spilled the beans about snogging Malfoy the previous year. Her review indicated he’d hardly spent any time trying to please, merely taking what he wanted and casting her aside.

Since Hermione was technically the only one that had been satisfied in their encounters, this left a damning conclusion. She and Malfoy were utterly and completely compatible when it came to biology. She’d spent a few days turning the idea around in her brain before casting it back to sea. There wouldn’t be any other encounters, at least not if he had anything to do with it, so there was no point in wallowing in this realization. Hermione would simply learn to like other boys. Well she already liked other boys, so it would be best if she also learned to desire other boys.

Other than Malfoy, her libido had hit rock bottom when considering the possibilities, but maybe with time the effects would fade. At the moment, McLaggen was clearly not making the cut.

His mouth was full of some bizarre hors d’oeuvres Slughorn was trying to refine their palates with. He was still talking, leading to the unpleasant effect of yellow paste creeping out the corners of his mouth.

Harry met her gaze across the sea of guests, giving her an encouraging grimace while skirting the ministry officials Slughorn was attempting to lead towards him. She gave him a quick thumbs up, before going back to nodding vacantly at McLaggen.

She was saved from further neck overuse by a scuffle near the door. She knew before she saw his face, before he even spoke, that Draco Malfoy was now in the room. If her awareness of him before their last snogging session had been extreme, it was now irrefutable. She knew the instant he appeared. She’d even felt him watching her from the astronomy tower as she wandered a careless path around the lake just the other day. The only saving grace of this night had been its total and utter distance from him, but her luck was short when it came to avoiding him.

It took mere moments for Snape to detangle his favorite, at least back when Malfoy had attempted to produce something other than carbon dioxide, student from the crowd and evacuate the premises.

Harry was already heading for the door, so Hermione followed, not bothering to inform McLaggen of her imminent departure. She caught up with Harry at the door, “Wait up!”

He glanced back at her. “Hermione? What are you doing?”

“Where are you off to?” He seemed oddly cagey. One hand nervously tanged in his unruly hair.

“Gotta go see Dumbledore. I’ll tell you everyting in the morning?” He quickened his pace, disappearing up the nearest flight of stairs before Hermione could offer a response. She knew he was searching for pieces of the Horcrux puzzle with Dumbledore, but he’d seemed more evasive than usual. Maybe it had just been the awful food and company at the party that had done him in.

“I swore to protect you, I made the Unbreakable Vow.” Snape’s voice was a wave of cold water. She dove for the staircase, retreating to just beyond the corner as Malfoy’s response echoed in the empty hall.

“I don’t need protection. I was chosen for this. Out of all others, me. I won’t fail him.”

Her blood ran cold. There was no doubt who they were discussing. Harry had been right all along. Malfoy was the beginning of the next generation of Death Eaters. Positioned perfectly, within the castle, he could spell ruin for them all.

“You will fail, Draco,” Snape insisted. “Let me assist you…”

“No! I was chosen, this is my moment!” Malfoy hissed back, his voice more suffused with emotion than she’d heard in quite some time. He didn’t sound confident though; it seemed as if by repeating the words, he was trying to believe them.

Snape said something pleading, but Malfoy brushed past him, moving further into the darkened hall. Hermione peered around the corner, watching Snape with bated breath. After an endless moment, he moved away from her, and disappeared down a separate corridor.

What was the Unbreakable Vow? And what in the world did it mean that Snape had made one to protect Malfoy? If she was right, and she almost certainly was, it meant that both Malfoy and Snape swore allegiance to the Dark Lord. Was it possible? Dumbledore’s faith in Snape had always seemed rock solid in the face of any obstacle.

Her stomach was tied in knots and she could barely believe what she now knew. She and Malfoy. She had been doing… that… with a Death Eater. The thought should have disgusted her, made the desire turn to ash, but it changed nothing. The memory of his breath mingling with hers, his flesh against her own, still sent her pulse leaping, her cheeks flushing at the mere thought of him.

He was a Death Eater. And it didn’t change a damn thing. Had he killed yet? Tortured? Was he responsible for Katie Bell’s curse? She didn’t want to know.

Hermione’s pulse fluttered erratically as her fingers trailed along the cold stone of the castle wall, heedless of her path. She had half a mind to run out into the snow and throw herself upon the frozen lake, hoping the chill would free her from such incomprehensible knowledge.

She should go to Dumbledore straightaway, and yet she wouldn’t, couldn’t, because of him. Her hands gripped her hair, pulling it from its elaborate coif. She would do the right thing, if only she knew what that was.

“Stalking me, Mudblood?”

Hermione jumped out of her skin as he came into focus. How long had he been watching her? Did he know that she knew? Were these to be her final moments? The questions were endless, the answers hanging just out of reach.

“No, not intentionally.” She stayed on the other side of the corridor, her hands grasping at the stones.

He raised a brow. “And what exactly are you doing wandering around the dungeons at this hour? Weren’t you at that pathetic party Sluggy was hosting? I distinctly remember seeing McLaggen drooling all over you.”

“I needed air.”

He laughed, not cackled or snickered, but laughed. “I can’t imagine why, with McLaggen on your arm.”

It was so dissonant with his usual demeanor, especially considering her newfound knowledge, that she gaped at him. He could laugh. Of course he could, but she’d never imagined she would hear it, let alone be the source of it.

“Get your jaw off the ground, Granger.” He chided, the humor lingering in his silver eyes.

She shook her head, attempting to organize her thoughts in any logical way. “Didn’t Snape haul you out of that pathetic party?”

His eyes flashed, a sudden reminder that he was no less dangerous than before. He leaned against the wall across from her, his eyes dragging paths of fire across her skin. “What’s it to you, Mudblood? Keeping tabs on me?”

Hermione most definitely was, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Just something I saw.”

“And Avada Kadavra is for healing bunnies. “ The shock of hearing the Killing Curse from his lips sent a jolt down her spine. He hadn’t been holding his wand, but his pronunciation was impeccable. He closed the space between them, driving her senses into a confused hurricane. She wanted to melt against him. She wanted to run from him. She wanted to scream at him until it all made sense again. “Do I make your nervous, Mudblood?”

In infinitely many ways. “No.”

“But I do,” his wand had emerged and was now trailing a path down her neck. Her jugular jumped against her skin, it’s erratic rhythm matching her rising panic. “Don’t lie to me.”

Hermione said nothing at all, not daring to even blink. His silver eyes were a rising storm in the dim light. “What could I make you do, Mudblood? Anything? I can make you scream in pleasure, but it could just as easily be pain…”

She stiffened, jerking back from his wand’s caress. “Stop it.”

“Make me.” The humor was back, but now it was twisted beyond recognition, something entirely more insidious.

Hermione’s wand dropped from her sleeve, falling into her hand. “I don’t want to curse you.”

His eyes slanted down to appraise her wand before returning to her face, his lips twisting in dark amusement. “I don’t think you have it in you, Mudblood.”

She had half a mind to slap him again, but that would only prove his point. Steeling herself, she stared back at him, unflinching as she murmured, “Expelliarmus.” His wand snapped into her hand.

Malfoy’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments before his hands were digging into her shoulders, ramming her against the cold stone. “That’s quaint, Mudblood.”

Before she even knew he was moving, his wrist was twisting hers, his wand falling harmlessly against the floor. She pushed against him, digging her elbow into his ribs with as much force as she could muster. He laughed, dark and dangerous. His other hand closed around her wand hand, bending and pressing until she had no choice but to yield to him. Both wands discarded on the floor, he stared down at her, liquid silver in his eyes. Slowly, he pinned her left, then her right hand against the unforgiving stone.

The uneven stone scraped against her, his pressure punishing. She could feel small rivulets of blood oozing as his fingernails dug into the inside of her wrists, cutting against her racing pulse.

“I win.”

The frost within his eyes sent tremors through her soul. There was no doubt in her mind that he would and could hurt her. Hermione’s eyes fell to his left arm, all too certain of what lay beneath. And yet, she didn’t fight him, didn’t struggle. It was as if she willed her own destruction at his hand. Hermione swallowed. She was insane, absolutely bloody insane and it was all his fault. Her body had rebelled against her, refusing to resist him.

Malfoy’s eyes darkened further. “Do you like this, Mudblood?” She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her chest was heaving now, the panic winding through her veins drawing to apex. “You do, don’t you? You like it when I hurt you…”

She wanted to scream no at the top of her lungs, but her tongue had long since lost its ability to form coherent syllables. He had to be wrong; she couldn’t enjoy this pain, this total loss of control. And yet, her pulse raced not only in terror, but also anticipation. She wanted to know what would happen next. She didn’t want to escape. The realization was as frightening as the frost beneath his glare.

He tilted his head down until his forehead brushed against hers, the fine fringe of his bangs teasing her skin. His hot breath mixed with hers as she struggled to focus on his stone features. Despite her best efforts, her breath caught as his lips caressed her skin. “Never forget I own you, Mudblood.”

Hermione was trembling now, shaking against his severe grasp. She could barely think, barely even breathe with him this close. His nails briefly dug deeper, drawing blood, before he coolly bent to retrieve their wands. He dropped hers at her feet. “Not much use, is it?”

The remaining sane thought in her brain screamed for her to pick it up, to hex him or curse him, but she couldn’t move. Malfoy backed away from her, his cold gray eyes never leaving hers. Eventually the shadows swallowed him whole, leaving her gasping alone in the darkness of the dungeons.

She stared down at the blood seeping from her wrists, incomprehension flooding her. How had she allowed him to do this? How had she stood idly by as he hurt her, humiliated her? Yet there was no denying the facts.

A chill fell over her, far more severe than that of the dank hall. How could she face him now? Their last few interactions had made mincemeat of her. Hermione had no one to tell, no one to confide in, no one to forgive her trespasses.

Her strapless gown was poor protection against the lonely night. Her trembling fingers lifted her wand from the ground. Hermione took a deep breath before waving it across her dress, transfiguring it into a long coat. Wrapping her arms tightly around herself, wand still at the ready, she made the trip back to the Griffindor Tower.

Ron and Lavender were splayed across one of the couches, the vile sight still somehow a balm after this latest fall down the well of insanity. She made her way to the girls’ bath, glad that most were still out enjoying their Saturday night.

She hardly recognized the face she saw in the mirror. Her eyes were red and sunken, her cheeks hollow and dull. He had done this to her. No, she had let him do this to her. Hermione turned away, unwilling to meet her own gaze.

 


	6. Six

**~*~Six~*~**

 

The weeks before the Christmas Holiday were some of the worst of Hermione’s life. She tried to distract herself with schoolwork and Horcrux research, but nothing could alleviate the constant panic thrumming within her. She’d gone out of her way to avoid even looking in the same direction as Malfoy, going as far as to skip potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had earned her concern from Slughorn and a detention from Snape. Hermione hardly cared if she spent every night of the last week inventorying Snape’s personal collection of potions ingredients, at least Malfoy wasn’t within a thousand feet of her.

Just as before, she could sense his presence. Now though, chills shot down her spine every time she felt his gaze on her. Her insane libido still dreamed of him, but her waking mind knew better.

Harry and Ron barely seemed to notice her distant behavior. They were too distracted preparing for their impending journey to The Borrow for the holidays. Hermione’s own parents had chosen to take a trip this holiday, heading to Australia for their 20th wedding anniversary. She wanted nothing more than to write them and beg them to stay, but she wouldn’t ruin their holiday. She’d considered asking Ron if she could come, but between his constant lip lock with Lavender and her growing distance from both Ron and Harry, she couldn’t find the will to ask. So instead she watched classmate after classmate depart until it was only an empty castle in the still December cold.

In a way it was easier this way, with no one watching her, no one left to judge her. She sat for hours a day beside the frozen lake, occasionally remembering to cast a warming charm. Perhaps if she stared at the snow for long enough, she’d be set free from this hellish stalemate.

She’d spoken to no one about what had happened, not even giving Harry the confirmation of his suspicions. She hated what Malfoy did to her, even when he wasn’t around. Hermione could hardly think straight, her sleepless nights even more tortured with this unbearable knowledge.

She’d come out to the lake today in the midst of a blizzard, happily flopping upon the frozen ground and staring up into the endless white of the sky. If only she could be one of those flakes, free to move and dance, unencumbered by the truth.

The sound of footfalls in the fresh snow had her twisting toward the castle, squinting into the multitude of white. What emerged had her scrambling to her feet, wand at the ready.

“What the hell are you doing out here, Malfoy?”

For a passing moment he looked surprised to see her, but his expression quickly morphed into his usual stone veneer. “Ah, Mudblood. What an unpleasant surprise.”

“Would you bloody well stop calling me that!” She was gratified by the fervor behind her words.

The snowflakes danced around him, coating his dark lashes in white, distracting her in all the wrong ways. He shrugged, “I’m only calling it like it is.”

She bit her lip, relishing in the focus the pain provided. “I’m just as good as you in school. I have just the same marks, my spells are just as good… what does Mudblood even mean if I am just as good as you?”

“But you’re not,” Malfoy snarled, invading her senses as he lunged toward her.

Hermione stared back at him, refusing to yield yet again. “I am not. You are not better than me. Not because you’re a pureblood and not because you have that bloody awful tattoo on your arm!”

“What?” The word was like the crack of a whip.

Hermione’s mouth snapped shut, adrenaline flooding her veins. She had not just told him. She couldn’t have been that careless, but she had and now he was looking at her with eyes as cold as steel. She couldn’t undo it, couldn’t tell him she’d been mistaken. He would never believe her.

She set her jaw, staring back at Malfoy with as much confidence as she could muster. “I know.”

He didn’t bother to ask how. Keeping his perilous eyes locked with hers he pulled back his coat and jumper, bearing the Dark Mark to the chilled air. The snake twisted and writhed on his arm before stilling. The air caught in the back of her throat as she studied it, the marking at once hideous and beautiful against his pale skin.

“What does it make you feel, Mudblood?” he hissed at her.

Hermione blinked once before meeting his dark stare. “Sad. It makes me feel sad.”

His full lips twitched. “What?”

“It makes me feel sad.”

His eyes traced the tattoo for a long moment. “What the bloody hell are you going on about, Mudblood?”

She frowned, not entirely sure how to describe the all-encompassing sense of loss she got looking at his marred flesh. “It’s like an ending before a beginning.”

She extended a gloved hand, tracing the twists of the snake. Malfoy didn’t move, barely even seemed to breathe, as she touched him. She’d never imagined being this close to the Mark, let alone this close without the bearer trying to kill her. But his wand was tucked away and his silver eyes were wide with an emotion she’d never seen behind them.

“I wish it hadn’t happened to you. I wish you didn’t have to bear it.” Hermione realized she was telling the truth. Even with his threats in the dungeons, some part of her believed this was not his path. Perhaps it was hopeless optimism, but she still believed Draco Malfoy had a soul.

“I don’t need your pity,” he spat, tugging his arm back and letting his coat fall again to cover the Mark.

She shook her head, hair billowing in the snow. “I don’t pity you, Malfoy. I just wish…”

“That I could be like one of your Griffindor boys? All soft and weak and good?” His lips pressed in a thin line as he faced her. “I’m not good, you of all people should know that. Don’t try to make me good.”

Hermione wanted to protest, to tell him it wasn’t too late, but that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? She’d seen his destiny imprinted on his arm, felt it in the clawing of his nails against her wrists, seen it in the ice beneath his eyes.

“Stop, Granger. Stop trying to fix what’s already broken.” He sounded more human than she’d ever heard him, exhausted even. Behind all that rage and malice was a tired boy, as lost as she was. It was an arresting realization, enough to once again shift her paradigm. Her fear of him dissipated, becoming a dull sense of unease. Yes, he could kill her, maim her, tear her down until she was only pieces in the wind, but he was just as lost as she was.

“Stop looking at me like that!” Malfoy’s features attempted to find their usual sneer, but the venom was lackluster at best.

“No.” And she meant it. She didn’t care if he wasn’t buying what she was selling. She wasn’t giving up on him. It made no sense. He’d hurt her in a million ways, made her doubt herself, driven her to bouts of panic and mania that made her question even her basic sanity. And still she wanted to fight for him, couldn’t imagine walking away now. She had the sinking feeling that she’d still be fighting for him, no matter what he did.

It was horrible knowledge to know that he somehow mattered more to her than her own life, than Harry’s life, than even the fate of the Wizarding world. All because she couldn’t imagine a world without his lips on her skin, his voice against her ear. She’d thought it was lust, infatuation perhaps, impermanent and unbinding. But it was something far more nefarious that drew her to him. Somehow, through the mess of violence and desire, she had started to need him. It was twisted, self-destructive in every different way, but no less true. Hermione hated him for it, but not quite as much as she hated herself.

Malfoy sighed, her silence becoming too great for him. His gloved hand tugged his hair as he warily eyed her. “How long?”

She didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “Since the night of the party.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s been weeks since then. How come Dumbledore hasn’t come to cart me away to Azkaban?”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“You’re bloody mad, Granger.” He shook his head. His eyes were lighter now, like the sky just before dawn, when silver hung just above the horizon.

“What are you going to do?” She didn’t know what she meant by the question, only that she could finally ask. The decision had already been made not to turn him in and yet, perhaps she could find a way around her inability to hold his liable for his actions.

Malfoy’s lips twitched, his silver eyes shuttering. “I’m not going to bloody well tell you the Dark Lord’s instructions now, am I?”

Hermione wasn’t even sure she wanted to know. Would she be able to act on the knowledge? What would be the cost of this fatal attraction? Maybe the less she knew, the better.

The ice was creeping back into his eyes, chasing away the dregs of humanity that held her captive. “If you speak a word of this, I will tell him everything and I will ensure your parents die, painfully and publicly.”

It wasn’t an empty threat. The risk had been there since the return of Voldemort two summers ago. She’d just never thought she’d hear it verbalized by someone she knew so well, who had the power to follow through. The spike of hatred rose again within her. Hatred for him, for herself for allowing him to do this.

Her hand collided with his cheek. The sound was impossibly loud in the chilled quiet. Malfoy’s eyes hardened until not a trace of the boy she’d seen remained.

“ _Diffindo_!”

Hermione’s wand slashed through air. “ _Protego_.”

His spell rebounded and slashed across the lake, ripping into the ice. “ _Reducto_!” He roared, the snow at her feet blasting a million directions. The barrage of explosions and curses continued, causing the snow to glow around them. She met him step for step, always defensive, but never yielding.

They moved slowly away from the lake toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest, away from any prying eyes in the castle. The trees were barely visible through the blowing snow, Malfoy merely a slash of back against the white canvas.

She could feel the rhythm now, the duel a dance of give and take. He’d switched to spells she’d only read about in the Restricted Section, their potency unknown, but she felt oddly comfortable as she parried them away, bizarrely sure that he wouldn’t truly hurt her. He’d injury her, draw her blood, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.

His frozen stare made no such guarantees “ _Expulso_!”

The blast caught her off guard, expecting another perverse curse instead. The wind rushed out of her lungs as she smacked into one the trees lining the forest. Coughing, she made to raise her wand for another Protego, but he was faster, her wand snatched away from her fingers to sail neatly into his hand.

Hermione stared back at him, eerily calm as she waited for his next move. He twirled her wand for a moment before pocketing it, eyes razor sharp as he studied her. The only warning she had was the slight twisting of his lips.

“ _Crucio_!”

The spell tore into the tree just above her head, bark scattering everywhere. She gaped at him, her body awash with fresh terror. She’d been so sure he wouldn’t, but the scar in the tree above her was proof enough.

“I won’t miss next time.” His voice was pure vitriol. He tossed her wand into the snow between them. “Don’t say a bloody word, Mudblood.”


	7. Seven

**~*~Seven~*~**

 

Christmas morning dawned revealing a sea of gray obscuring the horizon as far as the eye could see. The snow of the previous day dully painted the grounds, the ominous sky sucking away its pristine beauty.

Hermione rolled over in her bunk, her sleepless eyes staring vacantly into the abyss beyond her window. She hardly remembered the previous evening, only that she’d spent it in equal parts crying and screaming at the empty walls around her. Her heart was shattered beyond repair. She wanted to drown in Malfoy, to give in to all her baser instincts, to keep ignoring reality, to go back to that dreamlike moment at the top of the tower. But the line between them had been drawn.

It pained her to no end, her incessant need for him, her deep desire to save him from whatever he’d ensnared himself within. She wished she could turn it all off as he appeared to do. She wanted to let the ice that coated his lost eyes form within her, to truly feel nothing as he stood before her, as his memory ghosted across her skin, her lips, her soul.

But she was caught, torn from everything she’d believed about herself. Hermione Granger did the right thing. Hermione Granger was a good witch. But a good witch didn’t shelter a Death Eater within the walls of a children’s school. A good witch didn’t shiver with perverse delight at the very twist of that Death Eater’s lips.

No matter how awful it was, no matter the nausea that swept through her after nearly every meal. No matter how much she fought, she could not change how she felt. She could not escape him, not even within her own mind.

What to do now? It was a matter of minimizing her risk to Harry, making sure this pernicious fault of hers would not spell ruin for them all. There was nothing left but to thwart him on her own. She might not be able to turn him in, but as long as he was safe, she could do everything within her power to stop him.

Assured at least in that belief, she slowly arose, not bothering to put on anything besides her latest Weasley Christmas jumper. Dobby often brought her food if she didn’t appear during meal times, so there was no need to leave the Griffindor Tower. She could know, at least for today, that she was safe. From him, but most importantly, from herself.

An owl had delivered Harry and Ron’s presents the previous morning, so she glumly brought them down the stairs to the empty common room. It was endearingly easy to tell which were from Ron. His wrapping was loose, barely fitting the shape within. Harry and Ginny’s were neat, with extra bows on Ginny’s.

She yearned to be at the Borrow. What was Ron’s dalliance with Lavender compared to her liaison with Malfoy? At least Lavender wasn’t going to kill anyone, at least not intentionally.

What would they be up to now? Likely a hearty breakfast prepared by Mrs. Weasley followed by presents and general merriment. If the twins were there it would be ever more festive, although perhaps a bit more perilous as well. You never knew when your hair might turn neon pink or disappear entirely when they were around.

A bang against the common room door knocked Hermione back to reality. Who would need to knock? All the Griffindors, even the forgetful first years, knew the password by now. Her pulse jumped against her throat. Malfoy wouldn’t come looking for her, would he? It was absurd thought, but the portal shook with another knock.

Hermione crept toward the door. “Who’s there?”

“Me, silly!” Luna’s voice was muffled, but unmistakable.

Hermione swung the door fully open, her adrenaline abating at the sight of the peculiar Ravenclaw. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you, Luna, I just didn’t think you’d stayed.”

“I didn’t, but then I got lonely at home and my father agreed to bring me back. It’s so nice to see your face, Hermione. Although you do look very tired. Have Nargles been nesting on your pillow?”

“Uh, no.” Hermione did her best not to roll her eyes. “You want to come in?”

“Yes, please.” The blonde floated across the room, her head swiveling to survey the interior of the common room. Hermione motioned toward a sofa near the fire and Luna followed, still staring at the walls as if they were alive.

“How was your holiday?”

“Alright I guess. Father is worried about the constant bad news, but I tried to cheer him up. How have you been? I thought you would go with Ron and Harry, but it’s a pleasant surprise to find you here.” Luna finally took off her oversized glasses, her blue eyes sparkling with an inner joy Hermione envied.

Hermione shrugged. “It’s been alright, a bit quiet really, but I think I needed that.” Needed that right up until Malfoy ruined everything, but there was no way she was broaching that subject with Luna.

“You should open your presents.” Luna pointed to the assortment of packages from the Weasleys and Harry. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything for you, but I didn’t know I’d be here today.”

“It’s fine, I’m not offended in the slightest,” Hermione assured, picking up a wrapped gift from the pile in front of them. “You sure you just want to watch me open these?”

The other girl nodded, a contented smiled entrenched on her lips. “Yes, please. I always love this part.”

Luna laughed and oohed at nearly every gift Hermione opened. It was oddly refreshing to have such positive energy in the room with her. The last few months had been a spiral down into the land of doom and gloom. It was good to remember that although there most certainly was darkness, there was also still light. By the final gift, Hermione had given in to Luna’s infectious joy, her laugher bubbling freely from her throat, as it hadn’t done in ages. She felt lighter, if only for this moment.

Luna smiled as she examined a book on charms that Harry had given Hermione. “Some of these are quite inventive… can I borrow it when you’re done?”

“Of course,” Hermione offered, perusing another book, a history of the Australian Wizarding community, that Mrs. Weasley had sent her way.

“Can I ask you something?” Luna’s gaze was sharper than usual, sending a wave of foreboding down Hermione’s spine. Nevertheless, she nodded. “Why have you been so miserable? Is it because of Draco?”

Hermione couldn’t help the gasp of air that escaped. “What?”

“I’ve seen you together a few times,” Luna shrugged. “I thought he might be why you seem so sad all the time.”

“What have you seen, Luna?”

“I went up the astronomy tower to search for Wrackspurts and you were sitting with him. It didn’t look like something I should interrupt. And then, after Slughorn’s party you two were in the Dungeons together. I couldn’t hear, but it seemed private.” Luna cocked her head, “Are you seeing Draco Malfoy?”

Hermione’s relief at the innocuous nature of Luna’s observations quickly morphed into alarm at her final question. She wanted to deny it all, but Luna wasn’t stupid, no matter how off kilter she seemed. The blonde already knew Hermione had spent time with Malfoy. Maybe it was time to tear off the veil of secrecy and finally let someone in. It was already clear that Luna didn’t judge her. She seemed mildly curious about the possibility, but showed no signs of anger or disgust.

“Not exactly,” Hermione began, her blood rushing in her ears as she allowed the words to flow. “But that doesn’t mean something isn’t going on between us. We’ve kissed a few times.”

Luna’s pale eyes blinked. “How is he? I think he has too many Nargles in his hair.”

“Uh, I didn’t notice that.” Hermione sighed, twisting her hands in nervous patterns. “I really enjoyed it, Luna. I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s driving me crazy.”

“But why are you so unhappy?”

That questioned edged into territory that Hermione was not going to broach. Luna had no reason to know just how far Malfoy had fallen from grace, it would only put her at risk and that went against Hermione’s plan to moderate the damage of her twisted relationship.

“We don’t get along very well. I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise. I don’t think he even likes being near me. All he does is call me Mudblood and walk away.” It felt weird to speak the truth, and even weirder to watch Luna’s pale features as she parsed the information.

“I think he likes you. When you’re not looking, he’s always staring at you…”

“Like he wants to murder me.”

“No, not like that at all. He always looks so tired these days, but when I see him look at you, it’s like he’s alive again.” Luna gave a small half shrug. “I don’t think he’s as evil as everyone thinks, but he did break Harry’s nose at the beginning of term, so I could be wrong.”  
            Hermione recalled hearing the story from Harry. It seemed so long ago, back before Malfoy had been anything other than an annoying Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder. Harry had been so sure that he’d heard Malfoy talking about a mission from Voldemort, so sure that the blond was the next of the Death Eaters. He’d been completely right and Hermione had called him barmy.

She supposed she’d gotten her just desserts. Now she was in over her head, protecting a Death Eater and trying to find a way around herself. She wouldn’t have hesitated to turn him in then. It wasn’t until that night on the Astronomy Tower that she’d lost her ability to make the good decisions. She wished Luna had interrupted them. Perhaps then, she wouldn’t have ever developed this crippling need to protect him, so illogical that it drove her to madness on a regular basis.

“It’s okay if you like him.” Luna’s eyes were guileless, free from the crushing burden of truth that Hermione bore.

Hermione shook her head, thankful for Luna’s naïveté. “It really isn’t.”

“But you do.”

That was the truth Hermione had been denying for months now. She’d admitted her attraction, but never allowed herself to acknowledge the dreadful truth. He was smart and clever and in those moments where he was human, when the dark veneer dissolved and his humanity came into focus, she liked him. The awful part was that the feeling didn’t abate when the façade returned, when his eyes became hard glass.

He made her feel in ways she’d never imagined, the pain and pleasure more vivid than ever before. There was no way she could make Luna understand just now not okay it was that Hermione was entangled within his web.

“He’s not a good person.”

Luna considered the statement, her pale eyes never leaving Hermione’s. “I don’t think we get to decide that now. We’re all still so young.”

Luna wasn’t wrong. Malfoy might be a Death Eater, but he was also only sixteen. But that’s what this fight did. It took children and stripped away their childhood. She only had to think of Harry to know that. He’d never gotten the chance to be a carefree schoolboy, not when he was hunted at every turn.

Was Malfoy the same? He’d been primed for this fight as long as Harry had, his father grooming him to follow in his footsteps. But Malfoy had never truly seemed dangerous before, more a child playing a part, and poorly. He’d been immature, his threats only skin deep. Now, though, he was all sharp edges and real danger. He had grown up and no longer could she brush him aside. That Crucio had been real, the tattoo on his arm had been real, his lips against hers had been real. She could not excuse him for being only a child.

“I don’t think that matters anymore,” Hermione admitted. “I don’t think we get to be young. This war is coming and we are going to be on the front lines.”

Luna twirled a strand of blond hair around her finger. “I think we have nothing if we don’t have hope.”

Deep inside Hermione did still have some tendrils of hope. That she could save him, that this war would not come, that she would not loose more friends and family. But how could she put her faith in the impossible?

Luna shook her head, her eyes regaining some of their sparkle. “It’s Christmas, Hermione! Let’s take a walk to the Lake and watch the giant squid enjoy the holiday.”

There was no way she was going back to the lake today. “Thanks, Luna, but I’d really rather just read a book here.”

The Ravenclaw girl nodded, bouncing up from her seat and placing her odd glasses back on her face. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that slid across her lips at the absurd sight. “Then happy Christmas, Hermione. I hope you find some cheer.”

“You too, Luna.”

Hermione watched as the Ravenclaw meandered about the common room, eventually exiting the portrait hole. It felt good to have at least one of her secrets revealed.

Not that she’d told Luna anything of importance. Hermione couldn’t imagine the other girl’s reaction if Hermione had admitted to harboring a Death Eater. Knowing Luna it would be something entirely beyond Hermione’s imagination. Sighing, she opened to the first chapter of the Australian Wizarding history book. Maybe it could give her a few hours of blessed distraction.


	8. Eight

**~*~Eight~*~**

 

Harry and Ron arrived back early from their trip to The Borrow. Hermione had already read of the fire in the Daily Prophet and the letter Harry had sent her, but hearing about it from them was infinitely more chilling.

“You know better than to go after Bellatrix on your own,” she chided.

Harry glared at her momentarily before replying, “I don’t think you’d do much better. She’s a murderer and I wasn’t about to let her get away.”

“But she did,” Ron interjected.

“Yes, thank you, Ron,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re bloody lucky Ginny was okay or mum would have murdered you herself,” Ron informed Harry, likely for the hundredth time if Harry’s exasperated expression was anything to go by.

“How long’s it going to take to fix up the house?” Hermione inquired, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between the boys.

Ron shrugged, “Awhile, but I think mum and dad are more than up to the task. Fred and George even said they come help, but I doubt mum wants their help.”

“Hah, you’d find booby-traps everywhere,” Hermione mused, the first genuine smile since Christmas with Luna tugging her lips. It felt so good to have the boys back. She could hardly believe she’d allowed herself to believe distance from them was a good thing.

“How about you, Hermione, how was Christmas with your folks?” Harry looked at her expectantly. She swallowed, her tongue suddenly too heavy to form words. She’d forgotten that in the buildup to the holidays, she hadn’t told either Harry or Ron that she would be staying at Hogwarts. She’d been too confused by her tangle of a relationship with Malfoy to even bother to tell them the truth. Better late than never though.

“I stayed here. My parents were on holiday in Australia for their anniversary,” She admitted, looking carefully between them.

“You what?” Ron was looking at her like she had two heads. She didn’t want to imagine what his expression would be if he knew the full truth.

“You know you could have come with us, right?” Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes heavy with understanding. He probably thought she’d wanted to avoid Ron because of the ongoing Lavender debacle.

She tried to plaster a genuine smile on her lips. “It was fine, guys. Luna came back early and I spent Christmas with her.” It wasn’t quite the full truth, but hopefully it would get them to stop looking at her like she’d lost her mind, which she most definitely had, but they didn’t know that yet.

“That’s nice…” Ron looked like he thought it was the exact opposite, but neither Harry or Hermione called him out.

“Did you make any progress on… you know what?” They hadn’t dared to include anything of import in their holiday correspondence. With Voldemort on the rise again, the Order wasn’t willing to take any risks. Of course the Order didn’t know about the Horcruxes, but that didn’t lessen the need for secrecy.

Harry shook his head. “No chance between the holidays and the attack. How about you? I think Malfoy stayed at Hogwarts this year. Did you see him? Is he up to anything?”

Hermione wanted to tell them, to just blurt it out. Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater and I’m pretty sure he has a mission he’s working on here at Hogwarts. That would be the right thing to do, but his silver eyes flashed across her memory. Not the cold silver, but those of the lost boy that had stood with his arm out and let her touch the proof of his allegiance. That was the boy she could not betray, that was the boy who held the last strand of her hope within his perilous grasp.

“I saw him out by the Lake once.” That at least was the truth. No need to tell them that he’d also fired off an unforgivable at her head.

“He’s up to something, I’m sure of it. What was he doing in the hall during Slughorn’s party when Filch found him? It bloody well wasn’t gate crashing.” Harry stared at her, his bright green eyes gleaming in the firelight.

She was grateful that she genuinely didn’t know the answer to his question. It was one lie she wouldn’t have to live with. “I have no idea. Didn’t you see him when you left to find Dumbledore?”

Harry shook his head, frustration chasing across his features. “I was so determined to find out why Dumbledore had sent Snape to find me, I forgot to look for him. Bugger. That would have been a good chance to figure out what he was up to. Do you think Snape talked to him?”

“Probably.” Hermione couldn’t risk giving away too much, especially since Harry thought she’d headed back to the Griffindor Tower to escape McLaggen when they left. Apparently Luna knew where Hermione had actually been, but it didn’t seem likely that she and Harry would be comparing notes any time soon.

“Why can’t we just corner his ass and make him fess up?” Ron insisted.

Harry shook his head. “That’d be daft, Ron. If we’re wrong, there’s no way he isn’t going to Snape and you know how that’ll end. And if we’re right—“

“If we’re right, Malfoy’s more dangerous than we know. We can’t risk him finding out what we suspect, especially if we’re correct.” There was a Crucio blast scar on a tree to prove her right.

Harry nodded. “So we watch him and tell each other anything suspicious, that way we can go to Dumbledore with proof.”


	9. Nine

**~*~Nine~*~**

 

That’s what they did as term began and the harsh January cold settled into everyone’s bones. They took shifts watching Malfoy, staying just out of sight, reporting on his every move. At least, that’s what Harry and Ron did. Hermione never followed him, too aware that she was a liability. He was dangerously attuned to her; apt to figure out she was stalking him within moments. If he found her working with Harry and Ron he would likely assume the worst and that was something Hermione couldn’t allow.

When it was her shift, she retreated to the restricted section, still searching for traces of Horcuxes in the dusty old tomes. Harry hadn’t had any luck with Slughorn, which led them to something of a dead end. They either needed to figure out what the Horcruxes did on their own or find a way to convince Slughorn to give Harry the true memory in question.

Classes had been remarkably banal, no pairings with Slytherins and no assignments that required more than cursory attention from Hermione. She’d devoted her free time to figuring out what exactly Malfoy’s mission was. The only occurrence from the previous term that stood out to her was the cursed necklace Katie Bell had returned with from the Three Broomsticks. Hermione didn’t know all the details, but she knew the curse had been nasty. It hadn’t been exactly clear who the intended target was, but Hermione was sure Katie had only been an accessory.

Hermione had talked to her one late January night in the library. Katie had been reserved, but willing to share what she remembered with Hermione. It seemed Katie recalled entering the ladies washroom at the Three Broomsticks, but not leaving it. Everything up until the pain of the curse was a blank. Katie thought maybe someone had used a memory charm on her and Hermione was inclined to agree. That still didn’t explain why Katie was delivering the cursed necklace to Hogwarts. Her memory had been erased, but she must have had a reason to agree to deliver the package. Unless, of course, it hadn’t been her choice. Maybe a threat to her or her family? But that would have been hard to erase with a memory charm.

All of this led to the dangerous conclusion that Katie had delivered the necklace against her will, but done it willingly. The Imperius Curse was the only remaining option. An Unforgivable had been used and given her experience with Malfoy by the lake, Hermione had no choice but to assume the plan had been of his creation. He knew how to cast Unforgivables and had clearly showed that he was willing to do so to further his aims.

So if Malfoy was responsible for the cursed necklace, what had been his purpose? She doubted he’d spoken a word to Katie in his life, so that ruled her out as the target. If it had been another student, he likely would have used a less risky means, cornering them in the castle rather than risking using a messenger. So it was someone on the staff. He certainly wasn’t trying to kill Snape, so Hermione ruled him out. That left the rest of the professors. Which would warrant a mission from Voldemort? A mission that Snape was sure he would fail to accomplish. Dumbledore.

Hermione’s quill snapped, causing Professor McGonagall to pause in her transfiguration lecture. Normally Hermione would apologize profusely and resume her notes with fervor. Now, however, it hardly seemed to matter. McGonagall sniffed and then continued on with her lecture. Hermione willed her hand to continue to going through the motions.

Draco Malfoy was trying to kill Albus Dumbledore, a fact that Severus Snape seemed to know. And now Hermione.

She hadn’t spoken to Malfoy since Christmas Eve. He hadn’t approached her, hadn’t even looked her way in weeks. It seemed he trusted her to stay silent. Of course, he was correct in his assumption, but she wished he’d given her some chance to learn more about how exactly he planned to complete his mission.

Now that she knew his target, maybe she’d be able to identify his next steps. Harry had noted that Malfoy seemed to spend an awful lot of time on the seventh floor by the room of requirement. That meant he likely knew the purpose of the room and was using it to his advantage. Without entering with him there was no way of knowing what he was doing. Hermione had talked Harry out of using his invisibility cloak, knowing the consequences of Malfoy finding Harry spying on him again would be far more dire than a broken nose.

Hermione sighed and looked down at the disaster that was her transfiguration notes. She was lucky she’d read ahead and already had detailed notes on the transfiguration of rare charmed objects.

Her gaze shifted to bore holes in the back of Malfoy’s platinum head. He was staring out the window, not even pretending to pay attention. She had waited long enough. It was time to act before he did something truly rash and brought them all down with him.

His sharp silver eyes snapped to meet hers. Electricity surged through every limb as she held his stare. Her breath stuttered, the latent memories of him surging to the surface. How could Hermione have forgotten the effect he had on her? She was playing with fire and his caustic stare was a promise that she would be burned.

She didn’t waver. Dumbledore’s life was on the line and she would be damned if she let Malfoy destroy him and Hogwarts. He glared at her a moment longer, the frost in his eyes holding her captive.

The movement of their classmates, signaling the end of the lesson, broke the stalemate. Hermione shoved her books, parchments and quills into her bag more haphazardly than usual as she took off toward the door, not checking to see if he followed.

Malfoy caught up to her as she rounded the final spiral of stairs leading to the Astronomy Tower. “What the hell, Mudblood?”

“Don’t you have a class to be in?” She snapped down at him, her wand already in her hand.

“Why the sudden aggression? I thought we had an understanding.” His tone was even, but his eyes were a gathering storm.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” There was no point in hiding her knowledge from him. If he were going to kill her, he’d have done it by now.

He climbed the final steps to loom above her in the stairwell, the scent of Cedar and Mahogany invading her senses. “And what have you figured out with that brain of yours, Mudblood?”

“You’re trying to kill Dumbledore.” He didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem to hear her at all.

“That’s absurd.” His hand traced a line down her cheek, drawing a line of fire. She jerked away from him and his hand dropped back to his side. “Why in the world would I do that?”

Malfoy could deny it all he wanted; Hermione was positive she was correct. “I suspect because Voldemort finds Dumbledore in his way. It would be much easier to get to Harry if he didn’t have one of the greatest Wizards of all time to contend with. I imagine he also wants to punish you, likely for your father’s failure and subsequent imprisonment. Should I go on?”

His silver eyes were daggers, hovering just above her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Mudblood.”

She smiled up at him, deranged humor fueling her. “I don’t have any idea what I’m talking about? Let’s recap, shall we, Malfoy? One, You’re a Death Eater. Two, someone imperio’d Katie Bell to bring a cursed necklace into Hogwarts. Three, you’re entirely too comfortable with the Unforgivables. Four, Voldemort has sent you on a mission that Snape thinks you can’t complete successfully. How am I doing so far?”

Her back slammed into the stone as he surged against her, his hands clawing painfully into her shoulders. “Shut up. Just bloody shut up, Granger.”

Hermione’s smile grew. There was the chink in his armor she’d been aiming for. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it, Malfoy?”

His head dipped over above her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine. “Stop pushing your stupid bloody way into this. Leave it alone.”

She angled her eyes to glance at his features. His eyes were screwed shut, his jaw twitching with tension. “So you admit it.”

“Yes, bloody hell, woman. Yes,” he hissed in her ear, his hands clamping harder into her shoulders, sure to leave bruises later. “Get out of here. Now, Granger.”

She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to, his hands held her firmly in place. His breath was erratic against her, his pulse jumping beneath his skin. “I can help you.”

“No, you can’t. This task was given to me alone…”

“… above all others,” she finished. “I heard you the first bloody time in the dungeons.”

“Of course you did.” He shifted so that his eyes finally met hers, the space between them mere millimeters. The boy she’d seen by the lake was back, his silver eyes a wreck of despair. “I’ll kill you, Granger. That’s how this ends. You dead.”

“I don’t care.” And in that moment, she didn’t. If her life was the price of their salvation, then so be it. If Malfoy abandoned his mission, then Dumbledore was safe for now and Harry would live to fight another day.

His eyes bore into her soul. “You should bloody well care, Granger. Your life matters.”

“Then decide if it matters to you,” she challenged. “Are you going to kill me or not, Malfoy? Decide already. If so, don’t miss again.”

He was utterly still against her, even his breath stopped against her neck. In an instant his wand was against her throat, his other hand pressing her against the wall.

“Do it!” She spat, refusing to show fear, the rush of adrenaline drowning her system. She couldn’t afford to give an inch.

He didn’t miss. The pain was unlike anything she’d experienced before, more powerful than the curses in the Department of Mysteries, more personal and more shattering. Her skin was on fire, her breath ragged in her lungs. Hermione tried to tell herself it was only in her mind, but her nerves had a decidedly different opinion.

There were screams echoing off the stairwell, twisted, ragged screams of a dying animal. Her throat was raw. Had it been hours, seconds, minutes? She had no sense of time now, only eternal pain.

Hermione barely noticed she’d been released from the curse as she slid down the wall. Malfoy was kneeling in front of her, his eyes red, filled with whorls of torment. She wet her bloody lips and croaked, “Just do it already.”

His hands trembled as they grasped her head, his thumbing tracing the path of her lean cheekbones. “I want to destroy you.”

She heard the unspoken, but I can’t, as clear as if he’d said the words. Her eyes focused blearily on his. Moisture hung below his lashes, slowly dripping down his porcelain cheeks. She’d made him cry.

Hermione angled her face up to his, tracing her dull lips across his trembling ones. “I forgive you.”

Malfoy choked against her lips. She kissed him again, more steadfastly as her strength began to return. The tremors of the curse still rattled her slight frame, but the feel of him against her was enough to hold them at bay.

They were snogging in earnest now, his tongue delving into her mouth, begging in the only way he knew how. She let him in, welcomed the ardent heat of his skin against hers. This was their salvation.

His jumper and shirt found their way to ground, hers following soon after. Hermione didn’t allow herself to think as his hands moved lower and his belt clanged to the floor. If she allowed herself to think, it was only pain, vivid and terrifying.

She felt the hard edges of him against her instead; welcomed the rough tugs that tore her remaining garments away. Her heartbeat was a drum inside her ears, drowning out the sounds of his skin against hers, the moans that filled the empty stair.

This was the first time she’d done this, but the fact hardly registered with her. Hermione clung to the pain and pleasure that rolled over her as he thrust against her, burying himself over and over again in her flesh. Her limbs were trembling, humming with electricity. All she could see was the silver of his eyes, melting down his face as he clung to her.

Malfoy’s hand dropped between them, roughly touching her in all the right ways. She bucked incoherently against him, drowning in the pain and the pleasure. It was over as quickly as it had begun. His head dropped to rest on her shoulder, his lean frame the only thing keeping them from collapsing to the floor.

Hermione clung to him, afraid to pull away. To her surprise, he didn’t push her away, didn’t drop her to floor and promise retribution. He merely hung his head against her shoulder and trembled in terrible silence.

The cold winter air crept down upon them from the top of the tower, but still they remained interwoven, locked together against the truth. When his legs finally did give way, they sank gracelessly to the stairs, unwinding from each other to sit alone on the cold steps.

Hermione pulled her clothes on slowly, unwilling to let her brain process what had just happened. The cloth was rough against her skin, a far cry from the softness of his pale skin. The Dark Mark swum into focus as he moved beside her, his trousers belted, his shirt in hand. She wanted to cleave it from his flesh.

As if following her gaze, he quickly buttoned his shirt and pulled his jumper over his head. The Mark disappeared, but the imprint of it remained, burned into her memory.

He joined her, perching on the step above her, silver eyes like fallen angels. Neither dared to speak or move or leave. Instead they waited, letting the cool air turn frigid and the dull sunlight extinguish.

The moon cast haunting shadows across his features where he sat beside her. His skin was luminescent in the pale light. It had been hours since the sun had fallen below the horizon, curfew had long since passed, but still they sat. Hermione shifted to stare up at his angled face. He was a weeping angel. Her weeping angel, fallen so far from grace.

She rested her head against his knee, shifting to watch the bright stars soar across the heavens above them. Each shooting star she made a wish, always the same. He slumped against the wall, his hand tangled in her untamed locks. Maybe he counted the stars too.

It was the first rays of dawn that forced them from their sanctuary. Hermione didn’t speak as they climbed down the stairs, shoulder to shoulder. As they reached the main staircase, she turned up and he down. Her hand caught his for a brief moment.

“I will always forgive you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

Hermione watched him disappear down the stairs, his gleaming white hair eventually succumbing to darkness. Numbly, she climbed to the Griffindor Tower, falling into bed just as the other girls were rising. She paid no heed to their pestering questions, instead reliving the moment in the tower staircase over and over again until it seemed more real than anything else she’d experienced.


	10. Ten

**~*~Ten~*~**

 

Hermione followed Harry as they wove through the stacks in the library, returning various books for Madam Pince. It had been two weeks since everything had changed. She felt more alive than ever before. Her veins hummed with energy and she felt she could touch the sky. Each morning she sprang out of bed, knowing she would be satisfied just catching a glimpse of him passing in the halls.

Draco hadn’t changed his behavior, he was distant as ever, his eyes full of frost. But every time she caught him looking, his silver orbs thawed just a bit. It was hardly notable, likely invisible to anyone else, but utterly monumental to her.

She’d done her best to avoid confronting him, instead waiting for him to come to her. Whatever had grown between them was fragile and one missed step could shatter it all. Hermione couldn’t risk that, not with so many lives on the line. So she watched from a distance, her heart skipping a beat at the very sight of him around a corner or across the room.

Harry and Ron had continued their observations, indicating that Draco was still spending time in the Room of Requirement. Now it was up to Hermione to find a way to enter with him. But she didn’t dare try until she’d spoken with him again, until she knew she’d definitely cracked his icy veneer.

Harry nudged her shoulder, drawing her back to the present. “Why is she looking at me like that?”

Hermione followed his gaze, finding a dark haired girl with a predatory smirk on her face. “Ah. That would be Romilda Vane. Word is she’s perfecting a love potion to give to you.”

“She’s what?” Harry looked deeply disturbed.

“That’s what I heard from Parvati. Who knows how good she is at it though, you might end up getting poisoned instead.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at Romilda until the other girl turned away.

Harry shuddered beside her. “I think I would rather be poisoned, if it’s all the same.”

“Yeah, me too.”

A flash of platinum blonde had her head jerking toward the Restricted Section. Draco leaned against one of the stacks, his dangerous eyes locked on her. He held her captive for a long moment before ducking around a shelf and disappearing into the stacks beyond.

Hermione shoved her half of the books into Harry’s arms. “Can you get these? I forgot I needed to check on something.”

Bewildered green eyes shone back at her, but Harry merely shrugged. “Sure.”

“Thank you! I promise I’ll make it up to you,” She planted a kiss on his cheek before walking quickly in the direction she’d seen Draco disappear.

He was waiting just beyond the entrance to the Restricted Section, his posture casual as he leaned against a shelf. She took a moment just to drink him in, the memory of him gliding against her skin, a wicked shudder running down her spine.

His eyes slowly rose to meet hers. There was a storm there, a war between fire and ice. Hermione stopped mere inches from him, savoring the heat radiating from his tall frame. His full lips twisted into the ghost of a sneer.

She didn’t let him speak. He groaned as her lips descended on his, his hands burning through her clothes as they ran down her back. He was pure sin and she drank it all in, heedless of their location, knowing only that she would finally be sated.

He pulled back, his liquid silver eyes devouring her. His lips moved as if he was going to say something, but then they crashed back down and it was only pleasure. Her hands twisted in his hair, drinking in his groans as she tugged his silken locks. She needed him closer, now.

It was senseless the way he made her surrender completely. She honestly didn’t know if she could pull away if she wanted to. He was the spark to her fire and she was blazing. Her entire body was trembling with a need so intense she could barely concentrate.

His hand slipped between them, edging her skirt up, creating impossible heat between her legs. Hermione whimpered as he pushed the only remaining material aside, his hand caressing her in the most wonderfully debauched way.

She mourned the loss of him as he withdrew to unbuckle his belt, but he was against her within seconds, spinning her to face the bookcase. The heat of his breath ghosted across her neck as he drew her hair to one side. Then his lips were writing wicked tales across her skin.

His first thrust into her drew a loud moan. He shifted to cover her mouth with a hand, his long fingers caressing her jaw. She barely remembered how to breathe as he claimed her again and again, writing his name across her soul until all she could imagine was him, like this, forever. When she tumbled over the edge, it was with a messy scream against his hand. His teeth latched onto her neck, marking her, as he followed suit. His hand released her mouth, dropping to her hip as his other clung to a shelf above them.

The books in front of her came into focus as reason slowly descended upon her. It was the cursed and charmed objects section, the same one she’d been standing in front of before he’d cut her. It seemed a lifetime away. He’d scared her so much that day, but not as much as she’d scared herself. And now look at them, joined in the most intimate way possible, so far away from her blood staining his shirt.

But that had been intimate too. The Wizarding world had taught Hermione that blood had power in ways far more nefarious than giving life. Had that been the moment when the cord snapped and they’d begun their crash course? Or had it been earlier? The moment her palm met his face in their third year? The moment their eyes met across the Yule Ball. When had this become their destiny?

Draco pulled slowly away from her, a flick of his wand cleaning away the evidence of their liaison. She turned to face him, her pulse fluttering at his utterly depraved appearance. His full lips were red and swollen, his hair sinfully disheveled, his eyes promising pleasure unknown. She wanted him to take her all over again.

Hermione took a deep breath, reading book titles until she her pulse had slowed from its frantic staccato. “We should talk.”

“We really shouldn’t.” His voice was rough, sending tremors of need piercing through her.

“Draco.”

His eyes narrowed at his name on her lips. “Don’t assume this has changed anything, Granger.”

She knew better than to believe that lie. “Fine, pretend what you want, but that doesn’t change the truth.”

“The truth that I’m a Death Eater and you’re Potter’s Mudblood?” The words were spat, but his eyes didn’t match the venom.

“Yes, that truth.” Hermione raked a hand through her hair, fingers catching on tangled ends before she finally pulled it free. “I can’t let you go through with this.”

Draco sighed, staring sullenly at the floor between them. “That does put us at a rather unfortunate impasse since I can’t let you stop me.”

“Do you really believe in that Snake-Bastard so much?”

A scoff tore through his lips as he tilted his head to face her again. “Of course I don’t. He’s half-blood scum, but right now he’s the only thing keeping my mother alive.” He flinched as he completed the sentence, clearly not having intended to share so much.

Hermione blinked back at him, pieces rearranging in her mind. Of Course. Why hadn’t she seen it? He may have been a right bastard, but he’d never seemed the type to sign up for murder. Not that she doubted he could kill, she knew better than to underestimate him now. “Is that what he has on you? We can protect your mother.”

“How exactly well did that protection work out for Potter’s godfather? You lot always underestimate him. No one is safe, not me, you or anyone else in these castle walls. If he wants something, he gets it.” His silver eyes flashed with a foreign emotion until Hermione realized it was fear behind them. He was afraid. The boy who’d successfully cast the Cruiatius Curse on her was terrified. Chills stretched across her skin as she stared back at him.

“Not so brave now, are you?” He shook his head, fear fading into something more desolate. “The best thing you can do is stay away from me. If you get in the way, I will have to remove you.”

“You don’t have it in you,” she protested, the words lacking certainty even as they left her mouth.

He stepped forward, crowding her against the shelves. A different kind of shiver slithered down her spine. “Make no mistake, Granger, just because I don’t want to hurt you doesn’t mean I won’t. Don’t trust me. I can’t make you any promises.”

Hermione hated Voldemort more than ever in that moment. She hated what he’d asked of Draco, what he’d done to the boy she suddenly cared so much about. She knew Draco wasn’t lying, she could see it in his clear silver stare. He would hurt her, he would hate it, but he would do it. He had done it. The memory of the Cruciatus seared through her with a vengeance.

“Stay away,” he warned again. His gaze was a tangle of emotions, each one piercing though her. She wished she’d never opened her mouth, never made him tear her hope into tiny shreds of despair.

He leaned closer, his lips just brushing her forehead before he turned, never looking back as he disappeared into the myriad of shelves. Hermione was back where she’d started, no wiser to his plan, no more able to sway him. She could feel the ghost of his lips trailing down her skin. She could feel the pain of his curse within her soul. How had it all gotten so complicated?

When Voldemort stole their childhood from them. Her jaw clenched, resolution filling her. She would not let that deranged monster win. She would stop Draco, save him and his family. She had no idea how that would happen, no plan at all, but she had the will. That monster would not take everything from her, and now everything included Draco Malfoy.


	11. Eleven

**~*~Eleven~*~**

 

Hermione was staring at the latest transfiguration assignment, trying to prevent her mind from wandering to less productive places, when Harry flew into the common room. His black hair was more disheveled than usual and his bright green eyes held a hint of panic that sent adrenaline shooting her veins. He paused a moment to catch his breath.

“What is it?” Hermione couldn’t help but think of Draco and pray he’d played no part.

“Ron,” Harry managed to breathe out. “He got into the chocolates from Romilda Vane. Turns out you were right and they were laced with a love potion, a pretty strong one at that.”

“Well, that’s not-“

Harry held a hand up. “That’s not the bad part. We went to Slughorn to get him the antidote, which worked fine, but then Slughorn split a bottle of mead with us. It was laced with a bad poison, one we only stopped with a Bezoar.”

“Ron’s okay?” She assumed Harry would have indicated otherwise if that were the case, but it didn’t hurt to double check.

“He’s in the hospital wing now, Madam Pomfery has him tended to,” Harry assured.

Hermione nodded, relieved that Ron was out of danger. A frown tugged at her lips as she considered Harry’s story. “Why in the world would Slughorn have a poisoned bottle of mead?”

“Peculiar, right? It turns out he was planning to give it to Dumbledore.” Harry’s green eyes glinted with anger as he continued. “Just like Katie’s necklace was intended for Dumbledore. I know it was Malfoy. I told them all, but they didn’t listen. We have to make them listen, Hermione!”

Hermione’s blood froze in her veins. “I have to go.”

“What?” Harry was staring at her like she’d transformed into a hippogriff.

“Just trust me, Harry, I have to go.” She didn’t give him a chance to stop her. Hermione flew out the portrait hole, pausing only a moment before heading toward the Astronomy Tower. If she knew him, and it was likely at this point she did, he would be there.

Her breath was coming in short puffs by the time she made it up the stairs, having had to circumnavigate several shifting staircase on her way. His platinum hair shone in the moonlight.

“Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Draco didn’t turn around. His hands clasped the rail as he surveyed the frozen abyss.

“You nearly killed Ron tonight,” she hissed, closing in on him.

“The Weasel?” His expression was genuinely perplexed as he shifted to face her.

Of course, he didn’t expect he’d harm Ron; the bottle had been intended for Dumbledore. “Your stupid poisoned mead ended up in Ron’s glass, you bastard.”

His eyes shuttered a moment, but he remained otherwise unmoved by her vehemence. “Trust Sluggy to foul up even the simplest of tasks. You can’t truly say you’re surprised, Granger. I never made any promises.”

Draco was right of course. He’d warned her again and again, but that hardly lessened the sting. “Fine, don’t make promises, Draco, but I’m not giving up. You aren’t taking anyone from me.”

The frost grew in his eyes. “You aren’t in any position to stop me. Leave it, Mudblood.”

The word hurt this time, stung in a way it never had before when uttered from his lips. She realized he hadn’t called her that since the moment in the stairs below, since they’d traversed whatever barriers lay between them, if only for stolen moments. That meant it had been a calculated use of the slur, meant to wound. She would give him no such victory. “That’s mature, Malfoy, let’s resort to name calling. That won’t keep me from figuring it out. I already know it’s in the Room of Requirement. All I have to do is get in there and it’s game over.”

“There is no way in hell I am letting you into that room,” he snapped, his pale features lined with tension.

“You can’t protect me, Draco. You can’t stop me.” She moved into his space, steeling herself against the effect of him.

He growled, low and dangerous. “I bloody well can.”

Hermione’s wand was at his throat before his hand could even twitch. “You think I’m not willing to play dirty, to do anything to stop you, but you’re wrong. Whether you like it or not, I care about you, and I am not letting Voldemort take you from me too. So I will find my way inside that room and I will do everything, absolutely everything, within my power to stop you. Do you understand?”

His eyes were blown wide with surprise, his expression caught between anger and bewilderment. “Don’t be daft, Granger. I’m not bloody worth it.”

“Yes, you damn well are,” she snapped back.

“I told you before to stop trying to fix what was already broken. You need to listen to me. If you continue down this road then the mostly likely outcome is both of us dead.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes pools of agony. “Don’t do this to us.”

At least he’d acknowledged there was an us to discuss. “Perhaps you can’t stop me any more than I can stop you, but that doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

A veil of sorrow fell across his silver eyes. “So be it then. May the best wizard win, Hermione.”

She stared down at his extended hand with incomprehension. “What?”

Ice slowly chased away the sorrow within his luminescent eyes. “This is the last time we meet like this. From now on, it’s war. You and I, we’re on opposite sides of this and it’s time we acted like it.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious, but his hand didn’t waver as his expression morphed into something still and inhuman. She grasped his hand, clinging desperately to the warmth of his skin against hers. She thought they’d moved beyond this violence, this cleaving of her soul as he faded before her eyes. Hadn’t their moments together meant anything to him? They’d bared their souls to one another and yet, here he was, grasping hers and twisting with all his might.

“Leave now.” She flinched at the cold steel in his voice, the latent aggression within his eyes. Her wand kissed his skin again, but he was faster now. “I don’t want to Crucio you again, but don’t think I won’t. Leave.”

Hermione glared at him as she retreated from the tower. “You’ll regret this.”

He didn’t reply, his eyes silver daggers in the moonlight. She held his gaze as she backed down the steps, never blinking until she was out of sight. She fell back against the stairwell, a memory of their time together washing over her. He’d changed her, morphed her into something impossibly wonderful only to destroy her. The fire that burned within her was at once rage and passion, hope and doubt. She squared her shoulders, glaring into the abyss above. She would not fail.


	12. Twelve

**~*~Twelve~*~**

 

Ron and Lavender had finally parted ways after the Romilda Vane incident. The breakup had been precipitated when he’d begun muttering Hermione’s name while unconscious in the hospital wing. Where this news would have made Hermione giddy before, it came as only as a mild relief that she’d be able to avoid witnessing further snogging sessions between the two.

Harry was in full Malfoy hunting mode, a pursuit that Hermione supported as best she could while trying to keep Harry away from the truth. They’d determined the hours of the day that Draco was most likely to be in the Room of Requirement, but had fallen short of gaining access. Harry wanted to storm in wands blazing with his invisibility cloak, but Hermione knew better. Draco was more dangerous than ever now, a boy without hope. She knew the stakes, finally. The cost of failure was death, not only for him, but also his family.

Logically, she could hardly blame him for cutting her off, removing another piece that might be used against him. But logic didn’t calm her simmering rage. She could barely keep herself from cursing him every time she spotted him across the room. Perhaps she should have been more afraid now, but the anger banished even the need for self-preservation.

So she helped Harry, putting all her brainpower into figuring out what the hell he was doing within that hidden room. They often slipped under the invisibility cloak, which was precariously short on their larger frames, and watched Draco enter and exit. Sometimes he left Crabbe and Goyle as guards, but more and more often he was alone.

Hermione had his schedule memorized, so now it was only a matter of slipping both Harry and Draco to enter the room. Getting the map from Harry so as to not be spotted was the easy part. There was no way she was talking him out of the invisibility cloak and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to steal it from him, if only temporarily. That left her with only one option, a really bloody good disillusionment charm. It didn’t help that Draco knew her so well now. Even the slightest hint of her shampoo or shuffle of feet and he’d know she was there.

She’d been practicing in the halls, trying to see how long it took for passers by to notice her. So far none had, an indication that she was on the right track, but she needed to do better than fooling a busy hallway. As much as she hated to do it, she‘d realized she need to test the charm on someone closer to her. The choice between Harry and Ron was easy. Ron was too absentminded to be counted on, which meant she’d have to test the charm against Harry. The thought made her uneasy, but not testing it could prove catastrophic.

She sat on the floor behind Harry’s favorite sofa in the common room, waiting for him to enter. The plan was to see if he noticed her outright, if he didn’t, then she’d start to move about. It was likely she’d need to move when she entered the Room of Requirement, so better to test that too.

Harry arrived with Ron within minutes, Quiddich practice just having let out. The boys slumped happily on the couch, seemingly unaware of her presence as they recounted the highlights of their latest practice. Hermione took that as a good sign and stood up behind them as silently as possible. Neither boy even paused.

Hermione circled to perch on the edge of the sofa. It might be pushing her luck, but that was the whole point of the exercise. The conversation between the boys continued on for several minutes before Ron glanced around.

“Have you seen, Hermione?”

Harry surveyed the room, his eyes passing over her quickly. “No, I figure she’s in the library doing next week’s homework.”

Ron nodded, shifting closer to Harry. Hermione leaned in, curious. “Do you think she’s still…”

“Interested?” Harry supplied, humor gathering behind his green eyes.

“Well, uh… yeah?” Ron scratched his head and looked around again, relaxing when everyone else seemed occupied.

“You were a right bastard to her with Lavender, so honestly, I’m not sure.” Harry paused, clearly trying to find a way to let Ron down gently. “She doesn’t look at you like she used to. Hadn’t in months. If I didn’t know better I’d think she was in love with Malfoy with the way she stares at him.”

“Malfoy?” Ron spit, his face turning an unpleasant shade of red.

Harry cringed, quickly backpedalling. “If I didn’t know better. Don’t be daft. Hermione and Malfoy? It’s never going to happen. She’d rather throw herself off the Astronomy Tower.”

Hermione fought to keep her breathing steady as she listened. She appreciated Harry’s observational powers, but not when they extended to her illicit personal life. She’d thought she’d been careful, but clearly not careful enough. She thanked Godric that Harry had written off the idea entirely.

Ron seemed to calm at Harry’s words. “So I still have a shot?”

“Er,” Harry looked decidedly conflicted for a long moment. “I don’t think so, Ron. That bridge seems pretty burned.”

“Blimey,” Ron muttered, sagging back against the sofa. “I have no idea what I was thinking getting with Lavender.”

“I’m pretty sure you weren’t thinking,” was Harry’s wry reply.

Ron snorted. “’Suppose not. So I’ve really buggered this one up, haven’t I?”

“Afraid so,” Harry admitted.

Hermione was disturbingly relieved that Harry had done the hard work of letting Ron down. She’d been prepared to do it, but had worried what it would do to their friendship, which she still valued. She would take one less thing to worry about.

In addition, neither Harry nor Ron had noticed her. Albeit they had both been distracted by their conversation. It would be harder when she followed Harry back to his room. She didn’t relish the idea of sneaking into the boys’ dormitory, but it seemed the only true test of her disillusionment charm.

As she’d hoped, Ron wandered off to play a round of Wizards chess with Seamus Finnegan while Harry headed for the stairs. Thankful again that girls were allowed in the boys’ dorms, Hermione followed him, trying to match her steps with his. He only paused once, his brow creasing as he surveyed the staircase. His bright green eyes stared right through her, unseeing, as he continued on his way. She followed him all the way to his bunk, hovering a long moment before fleeing when he began removing his jumper. She’d needed to test her charm, not play peeping Tom.

Safely back in the common room, she followed a few first years out of the portrait hole, waiting until they’d rounded a corner to lift the charm. Her lips twisted up. It had worked, even when Harry had noticed something off, he still hadn’t seen her. She was finally ready to uncover Draco’s plan.


	13. Thirteen

**~*~Thirteen~*~**

 

Hermione waited until a Griffindor quidditch practice overlapped one of Draco’s usual trips to the Room of Requirement. She’d asked for the Marauders’ Map the night before, citing the need for caution when she was the only one on Malfoy watch. Harry hadn’t blinked as he’d tossed the map to her over breakfast that morning. She almost felt guilty for lying to him, but the stakes were too high to waver. She was the only one in the position to stop Draco successfully and without harm to him. She wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

Crabbe and Goyle had been left behind this time, thankfully, so all she had to do was follow him through the door. Easier said than done. Hermione would have to be within a body’s width of him, which meant he’d be most likely to notice her at the beginning, before she’d learned anything.

She willed her racing pulse to slow as she followed him around the corner, the opening to the Room of Requirement directly ahead of them. He hadn’t seemed to notice her in the halls, but there had been plenty of other students to disguise her footfalls. Here, they were alone.

Draco paused in front of the blank wall, his eyes closing. The door slowly began to materialize. Hermione stepped closer to him, her chest mere inches from his back. She matched his longer stride as best she could as they stepped into the room.

A room full of… junk? She stared at the infinite heaps of eclectic Wizarding objects littering the room. Malfoy was completing his master plan in the midst of some serious Wizarding clutter. There were old textbooks, dressers, innumerable necklaces and jewels, even some figurines that looked bizarrely similar to the garden gnomes her neighbors had favored when she was a child. The room was clearly a place for discarding things. Maybe students had looked for a safe place to hide things? Or maybe they’d simply been too lazy to take things home come summer holiday.

She had to be extra careful to avoid any of the debris littering their path; acutely aware Draco would hear even the smallest scrape against the worn floor. They traveled through the maze of knickknacks to a clearing in the middle of the room. A large armoire towered above them. The space around had been meticulously cleared, indicating that this was the object so central to Draco’s plans.

Hermione frowned, shifting away from him to inspect the oversize cabinet. She’d seen one like it before, identical stature and markings. Yes, definitely the same. It had been in Borgin and Burke’s when they’d followed Draco and his mother into Knockturn Alley. If there were two of them, one at Hogwarts and one in the shop, there was likely some connection between them.

She stepped back, once again taking care to move silently. Draco placed the apple in his hand within the cupboard and shut the door. He murmured an incantation Hermione didn’t recognize and then stepped away, his features drawn with tension as he eyed the contraption. There was an abrupt flash of light from within and then total stillness. She could hear the sound of his breath from where she stood. She cast a wandless _silencio_ on herself, sure her own labored breath would give her away.

They remained there, in total silence and stillness until a light shone behind the door once more. Draco flung the doors open and removed the apple. A bolt of shock coursed through her as she saw a bite had been taken out of it. She was absolutely positive Draco had put an unblemished fruit within the cupboard, which meant there was someone on the other side. The apple had just gone from Hogwarts to Borgin and Burke’s. Most importantly, it had returned to Hogwarts, bypassing all the castle wards and safeguards.

Hermione was overcome with the urge to vomit, nausea rolling through her in waves. He’d found a way in and out of the castle, an undetectable way. He’d already succeeded; now it was only a matter of time. She had to tell Dumbledore. Her stomach rioted even further. She couldn’t. Looking at his pale features, with the beginning of hope pooling behind his silver eyes, she couldn’t.

Draco retreated back toward the door before returning quickly with a sparrow in an iron cage. He coaxed the bird into the cabinet and repeated the incantation from before. The chirping of the bird abruptly ceased as light flashed behind the doors. She waited with bated breath for the bird to return. The light came, but the cheerful melody of the bird did not. She shifted to see over his shoulder as he opened the door. The poor bird lay fractured upon the base of the cabinet.

“Fuck,” he hissed, cradling the carcass and placing it gently back within its cage. She could see the moisture gathering behind his despondent eyes as he stared down at the corpse.

Relief and sorrow warred within Hermione. She could still intervene, prevent this cabinet from working, but the sheer anguish in his eyes was enough to stifle any feeling of victory. She knew he was fighting for his life in the only way he knew how. And, right now, he was watching it all slip beyond his grasp.

He grabbed a jar from the pile of objects behind him, hurling it with a vicious howl. It shattered just beyond Hermione’s shoulder, glass flying. She felt the sting as several of the shards embedded in her skin, but refused to make a noise. Now that she knew how to enter the room, this place of lost and hidden things, she was closer than ever. A silly cut would was nothing compared to the scars she felt just looking at him.

She wanted to hold him, tell him that Dumbledore could truly protect him and his mother. But she knew better. He was right; Voldemort’s reach was too far-flung, too all knowing, to ensure his mother’s safety. Perhaps if it had been Draco alone they could have managed it, but Hermione would never ask him to sacrifice her.

His breath was more even now, the fury and despair having abated from the silver mirrors of his eyes. He sat beside the cabinet, arms slung over his knees as he glowered up at it. Hermione couldn’t help but appreciate the exquisite picture he presented with his chiseled features and stormy eyes.

Hermione wanted nothing more than to go to him, to feel his smooth skin against hers, to know, if only for a moment, she was truly alive. Just looking at him so unfettered made her pulse race and heat swell within her. There was no denying the effect he had on her, even now when he didn’t know she was here. He’d seeped into her bones and there was escaping how intensely he made her feel. She would do nearly anything for him, things she would never have dreamed of, would never have condoned.

It was at once calming to surrender to the force of him and terrifying to realize how little she cared for her own wellbeing now. He had changed her irreparably. Even with the memory of his glass eyes warning her of war, she knew she could not walk away. He could hurt her, threaten her, claim she meant nothing to him, and Hermione honestly wouldn’t care. She’d seen the boy inside, the one drowning in this terrible world of theirs, and she loved him.

It might not be a healthy love, but it was messy and all too real. She had no guarantees he would ever reciprocate her feelings, or even acknowledge what lay between them, but that didn’t change anything. She would fight for him when he could not and she would not regret a second of it.

They stayed, silent, lost in their own thoughts, until Draco rose. He brushed the dust off his trousers before moving to collect the iron cage with the broken bird. He pulled a cloth over the cage before heading to the exit. Hermione ghosted behind him, only a breath behind as he left the room and began to descend the stairs.

Draco continued out the castle’s central doors, heedless of the cold wind whipping against them. He traveled toward the black lake, skirting the shore to travel up the opposite bank. Hermione’s breath caught as she recognized the path they were taking. Soon they were standing below a tree, it’s bark cruelly shattered just below his shoulders. The sight of his first true warning shot, the first moment she understood how far he’d fallen into this deadly rabbit hole.

He knelt upon the frozen ground, directing his wand toward the dirt. A small pit formed as the soil shifted. He removed the cloth from the cage before opening it. He gently cupped the shattered bird in his palms before wrapping it carefully in the plain cloth. He set the bundle in the small hollow, directing his wand to cover it again with dirt.

Hermione could hardly contain the wave of sorrow that swept through her. There were several other small graves lining the base of the tree, all the pitiable evidence of his continued failure. She wanted the next bird to live, despite the consequences. She wanted Draco to live.

She retreated to the castle, leaving him to his still and silent grief. She’d cast a silencing charm on her boots before they’d headed into the snow, but her footprints were clear as day behind his. She carefully transfigured the snow back to its original form, hoping he’d be too distracted to notice.

Once safely within the heated walls she let the disillusionment charm drop, thankful to be able to move freely again. She swallowed heavily, the last hour weighing upon her, the gravity nearly sending her to her knees. She knew Draco’s plan, not the details, but enough to stop him. Perhaps not enough to save him.

She scrambled down the stairs, heedless of the other students lining the halls. She needed to figure out what exactly that armoire did. He must have been looking into this for months now. That first time they’d crossed each other’s path in the library, she was sure he’d been looking for information on the pair of cabinets. And then in the restricted section, when he’d been so insistent that she leave; it hadn’t made any sense when she’d thought he was merely annoyed by her presence, but it made perfect sense now. She’d been on the cusp of discovering his plans, however unintentionally.

Ironic that she knew now and would make to no move to directly stop him. Then she would have run to Dumbledore, averting the entire disaster, but ultimately dooming Draco and his mother. Now she was acutely aware of the cost of any course of action. She would stay her hand as long as possible and only when it was truly dire would she dare to act.

Hermione headed directly to the restricted section, sure he’d found some references there. Several hours and a headache later she’d finally found a mention of something that seemed plausible. A Vanishing Cabinet, two or more cabinets linked together could, with the right incantation, connect two places regardless of the protective wards around either of them. It seemed the cabinets also contained several self-preservation aspects that warded them from harm. With the exception of Fiendfyre, there was little that could destroy such cabinets. Well, that ruled out eliminating the cabinet itself.

She was left with either preventing Draco from fixing it, or in the advent that he did fix it, preventing him from using it to unspeakable ends. The row of fallen sparrows flashed before her eyes. No, she would let him fix it, he had to succeed at least in that, but she would thwart any breach of the castle.

But how? It might be true that she couldn’t attack the Vanishing Cabinet, but perhaps she could place her own set of wards, alerting her to its activity. That would be difficult, but not impossible. Decided, she made her way back to the Restricted Section.


	14. Fourteen

**~*~Fourteen~*~**

 

March dragged into April, the grounds slowly emerging from their winter hibernation. As the sweet perfume of newly sprung flowers drifted into the castle, Hermione continued her quest. There were three more birds in the graveyard beside the Forbidden Forest and although she’d created a ward that told her of movement within the cabinet, she’d been unable to tailor the wards to tell her the type of movement. She’d be just as likely to descend on an apple as a person.

She imagined she spent as much time as Draco in the room of forgotten things. She avoided the area when he was there, not willing to risk him seeing though her disillusioning charm. It might have worked the once, but Hermione knew he’d eventually notice her. So she worked at odd hours, always making sure to borrow the map from Harry before she departed for the seventh floor.

Harry and Ron were still trying to figure out what Draco was up to, although Harry had managed to get the complete memory out of Slughorn thanks to his use of Felix Felicis. The truth of the Horcruxes was more twisted than they’d feared. To cleave one’s soul once seemed an abomination, but seven times as Tom Riddle had aspired to do? That was inhuman indeed.

When she wasn’t hunting through the restricted section for better warding incantations, she was pouring over whatever tomes included even the slightest mention of soul cleaving. The act itself seemed to stem from only one root, the purposeful taking of human life through magical or ordinary means. It turned out one didn’t need a wand to achieve such an act of pure evil.

And now Riddle had scattered his flimsy soul across the world, leaving them desperate for even the smallest clue as to the identity and location of his Horcruxes. The diary and the ring were gone, but with five more they were a long way from any sort of victory.

Hermione sighed, turning the spoon in her cold porridge. Luna looked up from where she sat beside Hermione, nose buried in the Quibbler.

“It’s not the Nargles, is it?” Her luminous eyes were wide as she stared at Hermione.

“I wish,” Hermione replied, not having a clue as to what Luna was referring.

“He’s been staring at you again, you know,” Luna offered idly, her pale eyes back to scanning the paper.

Hermione glanced around before leaning closer. No one else was at the Griffindor table; in fact, most of the hall was empty except for a rowdy group of Hufflepuffs at the opposite end. “Draco?”

Luna nodded. “I think he misses you. Sometimes he looks so sad when he sees you. He hides it well, but I can see. What did you do to make him so sad, Hermione?”

“Nothing,” Hermione hissed, annoyed at Luna for drawing ridiculously naïve conclusions. “It just didn’t work out. The issues were entirely his.”

“That explains why you look at him like you’ve lost your favorite Crumple-Horned Snorkack,” Luna replied mildly, her eyes sliding to look at Hermione.

Fine. Neither of them was exactly innocent, but Hermione wasn’t about to tell Luna any of the iniquitous details. “It just wasn’t the right moment.”

Not that it would ever be the right moment when a madman bent on murdering both of them was loose with his seven soul fragments. Hermione sighed again, willing herself not to think of Draco, if only for a moment.

It was painful enough not being able to sit beside, to touch him, to show him how hard she was fighting for him. He stole through her dreams on a nightly basis, his lips caressing her skin, his voice making promises he would never keep. Some days it took all of her self-control not to march into the room of hidden things and tell him everything, beg him to let it all go, kiss him until she forgot why they were there. But she didn’t, couldn’t. His life was at stake and now more than ever, she recognized the power of Voldemort. This was no longer a child’s game. Draco had been right up on that lonely tower; this was war.

Still, her need for him was greater than ever, thrumming beneath her skin. She knew better than to act, so instead she dreamed. She satisfied herself with whispers of him across her skin, memories of their brief time together replaying in hopeless loops in her imagination. She dreamed that one day she would surrender to him in a proper bed with all the time in the world to explore each other. She felt his pale flesh against hers, his sinful lips tracing the future into her soul. She imagined them alive, their breath mingling in quiet harmony.

“You miss him.” Luna was looking at her again, her pale eyes full of gloomy understanding.

Hermione didn’t want to admit it, to acknowledge how painful it was to stand aside and let him march toward devastation. Of course, he wasn’t truly alone, but to not tell him, to not share the fight with him was often unbearable. “Yes.”

“Don’t lose hope.” It felt as if Luna could see inside Hermione’s soul. Her eyes were focused, the unusual clarity adding gravity to her words.

Hermione nodded, her heart twisting in her chest. “I won’t. I promise.”

Satisfied, Luna turned back to her reading, eyes going cloudy once more. Hermione stared at the empty Slytherin table. With only a two months left in the term, they were running out of time.


	15. Fifteen

**~*~Fifteen~*~**

 

There had been two more dead birds the past week. Hermione could see Draco’s sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, no longer hidden behind glamours. He looked worse for the wear and she still didn’t have a good plan. The wards were finally fully functional on the Vanishing Cabinet, but that didn’t help if all it transported were dead sparrows.

She was on the verge of a breakdown and she wasn’t the one with a target on her back. Or rather, that target had always been there. Ever since that first year, Hermione and Ron had been as good as marked for extermination. It had taken Voldemort several years to pull himself out of the grave to make good on that promise, but it was now yesterday’s news. She was used having her own existence at risk, but it felt entirely different now that Draco’s was on the line as well. So she worked twice as hard, searching for the hidden solution that would take away the weary despair dwelling behind his eyes.

Hermione was crossing in front of the fifth floor prefects’ bathroom, on her way down to the library yet again, when a sudden shout had her stopping dead in her tracks. Draco’s voice was unmistakable as he uttered one of the heinous curses he’d flung at her by the lake. She disillusioned herself quickly, entering the bathroom cautiously. Draco stood beside a shattered sink, a small trail of blood dripping from his nose as he faced Harry. Hermione bit her hand to stifle a gasp, her pulse a resounding drumbeat in her temple.

This was not good. Harry knew enough to be dangerous and at this point, she doubted Draco was pulling any punches. Spells shot back and forth in front of her, shattering the remaining sinks and sending water cascading to the floor.

Draco’s lip was split now, his face a mask of stony rage. She could see the words forming on his lips before they left. She moved towards Harry, ready to give up her cover.

“ _Crucio_!”

Harry dropped just in time, the blast exploding the stall behind him. His green eyes flashed dangerously, sending a chill down Hermione’s spine. Draco moved to cast again, but Harry was faster now.

“ _Sectumsempra_!”

A green blast barreled into Draco, his shirt suddenly soaked in red. Hermione collapsed to her knees before him, the disillusionment charm falling away. There was so much blood. His clothes were red, her hands were red, the water around them was shot with crimson.

“ _Episkey_!” The simple healing spell did nothing against the tsunami pouring out of him. Hermione clutched his face, tracing his pale cheeks with trembling fingers. His silver eyes were pools of desolation.

“Herm…”

“Shush,” she cut him off, searching desperately for a way to help. Her eyes landed on Harry, gaping at the other side of the bathroom. “Don’t just stand there. Get Snape. Now!”

His green eyes blinked at her in incomprehension. “What?”

“I’ll explain later,” she hissed as more blood pooled around them. “Get him now.”

Thankfully Harry bolted from the lavatory without another word. Hermione settled Draco’s head in her lap, her hands pressing uselessly against the gaping wounds in his chest. He wheezed with each breath, his features ghostly pale.

She brushed her lips against his forehead, his cold cheeks and blue lips. He barely seemed to register her touch, the light behind his silver eyes dimming with each passing second. There was water raining down on him; her own tears she realized. She watched them run down his translucent skin, praying over and over again to the forces that be.

Snape splashed his way to them, barely taking more than a moment’s notice of their odd arrangement. His dark eyes narrowed on Hermione, for once lacking their usual fire. “What curse?”

Hermione shook her head, the memory of Harry’s words having faded in the bloody aftermath. “I don’t remember…”

“Sectumsempra,” Harry answered, hovering by the door. His green eyes bored into Hermione.

She ignored him, grateful that Snape seemed to know what to do now. He tore open Draco’s shirt, revealing the gashes beyond. The wounds still swelled with blood, gaping open as Draco’s breath began to stutter. Hermione’s tears fell faster, her hands running through his hair over and over again.

Snape murmured an incantation she’d never heard before and the wounds began to sew back together, stemming the rising tide of blood. Hermione didn’t breath until the last millimeter of his skin had been healed. Only then did she gasp for air, still watching Draco anxiously to see if the color would begin to return to his deathly pale features.

“The wounds will scar, Miss Granger, but he’ll live,” Snape begrudgingly acknowledged. “He’ll need rest and blood replenishing potion before he’ll improve.”

Draco stirred between them, his eyes frantic. Hermione leaned down so he could see her face. “It’s okay. Snape fixed you up.”

He twisted in her lap to glance at his Head of House. Snape glared down at him. “Lovely to have you with us again, Mr. Malfoy. We’ve got to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

Frost sliding back behind his silver irises, Draco attempted to sit up, immediately falling back against Hermione with a groan. She shifted to her knees, propelling him upward until Snape could hook an arm around his shoulders. With a total lack of grace, Snape hauled him to his feet. Draco teetered again, but Snape maintained his hold.

“Potter, you and I will be having a conversation about a very long detention. Granger…” He paused for a moment, his dark eyes assessing her closely. “Granger, don’t do anything daft.”

Hermione met his stare with resolution. She’d moved beyond daft months ago. Draco wobbled again, causing Hermione to take a step forward. He weakly shook his head, eyes focused on Harry.

Hermione’s teeth ground, annoyance flaring within her chest. He’d been on death’s door and now he was worried about what Harry might think? She glared at him. His icy stare thawed as he met her eyes, but only momentarily. His usual mask slammed into place as Snape led him past the blood soaked scene.

Hermione met Harry’s emerald eyes. The rage within them chilled her. She moved toward the hallway, avoiding him entirely.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

She could hear the pain in his voice, understood how betrayed he must feel, but she honestly didn’t care. He’d just nearly murdered Draco and she was not up for the knock down drag out fight that he was spoiling for.

“Anywhere by here,” she snapped, motioning to the blood still swirling at her feet.

“I deserve an explanation.” Harry cut her off, his broad shoulders blocking her path.

“And you’ll get one, just not right now,” she returned, her tone frosty.

“Not good enough.” Harry growled. “Now bloody well tell me what I just saw. Tell me that there isn’t something between you two.”

Hermione tanged a hand in her hair, tugging as her brain searched for a way to avoid the conversation. Harry stared unrelentingly back. “You just put a bloody hole in his chest!”

“He cast an Unforgivable!” Harry hissed back.

“Yes, and you bloody well nearly killed him.” She was shaking, the adrenaline still in her veins. Just the memory of watching the blood gush from him made terror cascade through her. She braced herself against the doorframe, suddenly unsure of her footing. Now was definitely not the time to have this conversation with Harry.

Harry’s gaze softened minutely as he studied her. “Let’s find a place to sit,” he allowed. She nodded, grateful.

He led her through the castle until they reached the steps of the astronomy tower. Hermione halted abruptly, causing Harry to turn questioning eyes upon her. As thankful she was that his ire had faded, she could hardly imagine climbing those stairs right now.

“Can we go somewhere else?”

He frowned at her, his teeth worrying his bottom lip for a long moment before he nodded. They ended up in the transfiguration classroom, each taking a seat on a desk, legs swinging freely.

“It was in the book.” Harry broke the silence.

“I warned you the book was no good,” she gently admonished. Hermione felt better now that the terror had faded. A different sort of fear was growing within her, fueled by the knowledge that she was about to lie repeatedly to her best friend. She didn’t want to, but her knowledge was too dangerous to share with Harry, the situation too delicate for him to fully understand.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Harry continued, his hands twisting together in his lap.

“I know.” And she did know. There had been anger in his eyes, but not the cold-blooded rage of a killer. He’d wanted to hurt Draco, not kill him. She wasn’t sure she could forgive Harry, as much as she wanted to. He’d nearly taken the one person that mattered most to her in the entire world. It didn’t make sense, it was twisted and wrong, but it was true. She looked away, unable to meet Harry’s green stare, afraid of what he might see within her eyes.

“You and Malfoy,” Harry paused, clearly uncomfortable with that pairing of on his tongue. “Is it serious?”

Deathly, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m not sure.”

He tried again. “How long?”

“On and off, for a while,” she allowed. Hermione could hardly deny their relationship. Harry had seen her weeping over Draco’s bleeding body.

“Does anyone know?”

“Luna.” A flash of hurt passed through Harry’s eyes. Maybe it would be better if she’d lied now too, but she foolishly wanted to give him as much truth as possible.

“Has he hurt you?” Harry’s eyes were sharp as they searched her face.

Yes, he’d hurt her. Physically with the Crutiatus, emotionally with his glacial veneer, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, especially now. So what if he compartmentalized her away? She knew what lay beneath the ice and that boy was worth it all. She clung to that feeling as she met Harry’s discerning gaze. “No. He’s never hurt me.”

Harry’s eyes held hers a moment too long before he sighed. “And during the course of this relationship with him, have you discovered anything that would be useful to us?”

Lies were essential now. She steeled herself as she shook her head. “No, he hasn’t told me anything. I’m not even sure that he’s doing anything at all.”

“What about the room of requirement?” Keen green eyes examined her.

“He goes there to be alone.” That, at least, was the truth. “He doesn’t get on with his house mates much anymore.”

“I’d noticed that,” Harry admitted. He cleared his throat, a blush stealing across his cheeks. “I’m not really sure how to ask this, so I’m just going to ask. You’ve been intimate with him?”

Hermione nodded, thankful he’d left the statement open to interpretation. There was no way she was telling Harry she’d slept with Draco, let alone that it had been in such public places as the astronomy tower stairs and the Restricted Section.

“Right,” he muttered. “So um, would you happen to know if he’s a Death Eater or not… I assume you’ve seen him without his shirt on.”

She refused to flinch as the dark tattoo flashed before her eyes. This above all else, she would not share. If Harry knew, he would go to Dumbledore, no matter how persuasive her argument. And that would start a chain of events that would likely doom Draco and most assuredly sentence his mother to death. She was willing to pay any price to prevent such an outcome. So she looked Harry in the eye, wrangling every once of her conviction, and said, “No, he’s not.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.” The lie weighed upon her, but no more heavily than the gravity of every other facet of this terrible puzzle. She had no time to nurse regrets or might have beens. Voldemort was coming and she would not stop, would not waver, in her conviction.

She glanced down. Her hands were knotted in her bloody skirt, her socks a shocking red against her pale skin. His blood, coating her now. It had come full circle and in the end they both bled the same awful color. She peered under her lashes at Harry, his eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite identify, his shoulders slumped in defeat or perhaps just exhaustion.

“Can we call it a night for now?” She didn’t know how much longer she could sit across from him, feeling the chasm between them grow with every passing breath.

Harry nodded. “Sure, Hermione.”

She smiled, but it was half-hearted, strained. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not say anything to Ron?” She’d nearly forgotten to think of Ron, he was so distant these days, more Harry’s friend than hers. She wished they’d remained closer, but she didn’t miss him, not like she should.

“Sure. But he’s going to find out eventually and I’d really rather it came from you than by accident.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but she understood him. She would have to tell Ron, and soon, or Harry would do it for her. That was fair, not kind, but fair. “Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Night, Harry.”

She watched him go, his black hair fading into the dim hall beyond until all she could see was infinite darkness. She felt alone, more clearly and deeply, than before. She’d lied, not some petty white lie, but a real life or death betrayal. More than ever she needed that boy by the lake, that other soul just as adrift as hers.


	16. Sixteen

**~*~Sixteen~*~**

 

Her footsteps were soft against the stone as she made her way to the hospital wing, casting her disillusionment charm as she reached its doors. Madam Pomfrey was folding a blanket and placing it on Draco’s bed as Hermione slipped silently into the room.

“If you need anything at all, one of the House Elves will be here instantly to assist you. You’ll be nauseous for several hours, but that’s just a side effect of the blood replenishing potion.”

She patted his pillow before passing Hermione, the door clanging shut behind her. Draco sighed, shifting against his pillows. His pale skin had regained much of its luster, but he still looked exhausted. Hermione let the spell fall away. His eyes jerked toward to her immediately, surprise flashing across his features.

“Bloody Hell, Granger. How long have you been able to do that?” His silver eyes narrowed to slits as she moved to sit on the bed next to him. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

She cursed his keen intellect. “Possibly.” She raised both hands, an expression of surrender. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it right now. Can we have a truce, if only for tonight?”

“Just tonight,” Draco repeated, eyes cleaving into her soul.

“Just tonight. I won’t hold you to any promises you can’t keep and you won’t ask any questions I can’t answer.”

Draco’s lips twitched, but at last he nodded. “Fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do while locked away here.”

“You’re supposed to rest,” she chided.

“It’s a bit difficult to get a good night’s sleep when you’ve been vivisected and pumped full of blood replenishing potion. Truly foul stuff, by the way. Avoid at all costs.” The hint of humor behind his silver eyes was a balm to her tired soul. How she had missed him, not only the pleasurable physical effect he had on her, but also the sense of completeness she felt just sitting by his side, wry humor passing between them.

“So I’ve heard.” She moved to sit more fully on the bed beside him. He glanced at her, pale eyes tracking her every move.

“Merlin, Granger.” He was staring down at her skirt, which now stood out severely against the white linens of his cot. “Is that…”

“Your blood,” she finished, a chill running down her spine.

He continued to stare. “Why in the world haven’t you cleaned it yet?”

Why hadn’t she? It hadn’t even occurred to her, his life so much more important than her state of cleanliness. And now that she thought about it, she didn’t want to. This was a stark reminder of their mortality, his mortality.

“I don’t want to.”

Draco accepted her statement, his silver eyes tracing back up to her face. He was so utterly and beautifully imperfect. His hair was tangled, his eyes red, his cheeks wan, but he was looking at her, truly looking, brimming with humanity. This was her boy.

Hermione melted against him, her arm thrown across his chest as he continued to reshape her soul with silver eyes. Her fingers traced a path along his jaw, marveling in the tingle even such a simple gesture produced. His skin flushed at her touch, his gaze now searing into her.

“Should you?”

He glared back up at her, his lips pulled into a wicked pout. Hermione’s pulse jumped as he swept his focus from her eyes to her lips and back again. “I don’t give a bloody fuck what I should do right now.”

She collapsed against him, desperate now that he was so near. His lips were pure sin against hers. She ached for him, her whole body trembling as he drew her atop to straddle his hips. Her back arched as he thrust lightly against her, igniting the unquenchable flame of her desire.

Draco took his time undressing her, their frantic groping evolving into a slower, more sensual, exploration. The slow drag of his fingers across her skin left trails of fire. His steady hands pushing her bloodied skirt down left her bare on top of him, but she never felt the urge to shy away or hide from his ravenous stare.

She wanted him to see her, feel her, own her, know her like no one else ever would. Her legs shook in pure pleasure as he entered her, completing her as only he could. Draco moved slowly, each burst of pleasure stretched to eternity. Hermione lost herself in the silver of his eyes, the world fading until nothing was left but sweet satisfaction. His hands skimmed across her, writing histories and promises on her skin. Her lips tasted him, from the curve of his jaw to the raw scars of his chest. He moaned against her as her tongue flicked across his ruined skin. She tasted him again, holding his eyes captive as she worked her way back up to his impatient lips.

She swallowed his groans, gasping against him as he pulled her hips down. She clung to him as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, her mind gone blank except the imprint of his silver eyes. He shuddered against her, the power of her climax pulling him along. They collapsed against each other, a mess of panting breath and completion.

Hermione tensed as Draco shifted, relaxing when he only tugged her to the side, drawing the blankets snugly around them. She curled against his chest, his heartbeat pounding in her ear. He gazed down at her, his eyes liquid mercury. She wanted to remember him like this, to never see his eyes without this spark behind them. If she could get her hands on a time turner again, she would relive this moment over and over, damn the consequences.

Draco dipped his head, his lips capturing hers so gently it brought tears to her eyes. When he pulled away his eyes had dimmed, moisture now rimming their edges. Hermione pulled him back to her.

“Not yet. Let us have tonight.”

Frost warred with fire for an infinite moment before he acquiesced, his arms crushing her against him. She drifted into sweet oblivion to the sound of his breath against her ear and the rhythm of his heart against her palm.


	17. Seventeen

**~*~Seventeen~*~**

 

Hermione awoke to a cold bed, her hand reaching blindly into the space next to her. Her eye snapped open when she realized Draco no longer lay beside her. Instead, Snape sat in the chair beside the cot, a decidedly sour expression on his face.

“Ah, Good Morning, Miss Granger. If you would be so kind as to clothe yourself, I believe we have quite a bit to discuss.”

Hermione blanched, pulling the sheet more firmly around her naked body. “Is Draco…”

She could see Snape resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Mr. Malfoy is fine in his own bed in Slytherin. Where he is getting the rest he ought to have had last night.”

Snape gave her one last scowl before retreating beyond the curtains surrounding the bed. She quickly dressed, her skirt scratching against her legs, still stiff with blood. She had no idea what to think. Snape knew she’d slept with Draco, had clearly seen the evidence with his own eyes. It was unthinkable, so dissonant with the rest of her life that she could barely believe the last few minutes had been real.

A cleared throat beyond the curtains assured her they had been. Praying her face wasn’t entirely red, Hermione pulled the curtain back. Apparently satisfied with her state of dress, blood stained as she was, Snape motioned for her to follow him. She had half a mind to refuse, but ultimately curiosity found her sitting across from the professor in his office, his dark eyes studying her like a potions specimen.

“Miss Granger,” he paused, his lips twisting with disgust around her name. “I believe it is time we each show our hand.”

“What?” Hermione’s pulse jumped. She was in no shape to be interrogated by Snape. Not when he already knew most of her cards.

“Let me speak plainly. I have come to the conclusion that you are aware that Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater.” Hermione stared silently at him. “How do I know this? I have been watching Mr. Malfoy very closely this year and it has come to my attention that he has spent a good deal of time watching you.

“I doubted this had anything to do with his current mission. Yes, I believe you know what that is too, Miss Granger. I have deduced that you and Mr. Malfoy have made some truly questionable decisions. Decisions that leave no doubt in my mind that you know of the mark on his arm and the nature of his mission.” He steepled his fingers, sharp eyes piercing through her. “This leaves me with only one question, Miss Granger. Why is it that Mr. Potter and Professor Dumbledore seem to know nothing of Mr. Malfoy’s affiliations or exploits?”

Hermione could see there was no use in denying her knowledge. If Snape had been watching Draco even half as closely as she had, he had likely uncovered their indiscretions, and likely long before this morning in the infirmary. She held Snape’s stare. “Because I value his life.”

Snape nodded, as if he’d already known her answer. Perhaps he had she realized, recalling Harry’s doomed Occlumency lessons. “In that, at least, you and I are in agreement.”

Hermione had known that since the night of Slughorn’s party. She’d looked up an Unbreakable Vow the next day, trying to distract herself from the terror Draco had incited within her. “I am aware of the vow you made to protect Draco.”

If Snape was surprised, it didn’t show. “I assume you are aware that Draco is a gifted Occlumens?” She blinked in surprise. It made sense, but it had never occurred to her determine if he was or not. Not that she could have known seeing as how she had no formal training in Legilimency. “Is that a surprise to you? Interesting. How else do you think Mr. Malfoy has gone for so long undetected in this castle?”

“Is there a point to this topic?” Hermione snapped, unsettled.

“A very important one.” Snape paused, his dark eyes accusatory. “While Mr. Malfoy is very good, his skills are yet to be a match for the Dark Lord. Therefore, it would be disastrous if Mr. Malfoy’s liaisons with you were to be uncovered. You have been most unwise, the both of you.”

The venom in Snape’s words stung. She’d never considered the consequences of Voldemort learning of Draco’s weakness for her. Hermione had been too busy trying to hide Draco from her allies. She bit her lip. “I suppose we have been careless.”

“That is an understatement.” He sighed, greasy black hair pushed aside as he rubbed his temple. “I will be able to instruct Mr. Malfoy to fortify his mind, but that will take time. I would ask you to not add any more fuel to that particular fire.”

Mere minutes ago she would have balked at such an instruction, but now she nodded, eyes not quite meeting Snape’s. He cleared his throat before continuing on. “This brings us to the nature of Mr. Malfoy’s mission within these walls, a mission I believe you are aware of, yes?”

“Yes,” Hermione admitted. “Not that I plan on allowing him to go through with it.”

“I very much doubt either you or I will ever allow Mr. Malfoy to do anything or not,” he cautioned. “Have you noticed Professor Dumbledore’s left hand?”

She blinked at the question. She’d noticed earlier in the year, but aside from Harry’s speculation that it was related to Horcrux destruction, she’d not put much thought into the withered appendage. “Yes.”

“And what would you judge the severity of the injury to be?”

Her eyes narrowed. Now that Snape mentioned it, the limb had been slowly degrading. Between September and now, nearly eight months, the affected area had grown from merely his hand to most of his forearm. “I imagine it is quite serious.”

“Fatal, in fact.”

Her breath caught. Snape couldn’t possibly be telling her what she thought he was. Professor Dumbledore was already dying. As much as she wanted to deny it, to argue against Snape’s madness, she could feel in her gut that he was correct. Draco had been ordered to murder a dying man. “There’s no remedy?”

“None that I can find and I have searched,” Snape admitted. “I have managed to slow the progress of the curse, but it will be the death of him.”

“Unless Draco is,” she murmured.

“I have no intention of allowing Mr. Malfoy to kill Professor Dumbledore.” Hermione’s jaw fell, a wave of frantic hope crashing over her. Snape’s dark eyes narrowed. “Make no mistake, Miss Granger, Professor Dumbledore will have to die, as he is well aware, but we can make sure his death is not by Draco’s hands.”

Butterflies rioted in Hermione’s gut. “We?”

“You and I.” It was strange to hear such a phrase coming from his pursed lips. “You have one important piece of information that I am not privy to.”

What could she possibly know that Snape did not? At this point, she was sure he was aware of every skeleton in her closet. “And that is?”

“Mr. Malfoy’s plan and progress. I am aware he is attempting to fix the pair of Vanishing Cabinets, but I do not know how much progress he has made in this endeavor. I also do not know the location of his repairs. I have surmised that you do.”

“Why would I tell you that? How do I know I can trust you?” The words sounded hollow to even her ears. The Unbreakable Vow was just that, unbreakable. There was no way he was jeopardizing Draco’s welfare. That did not however vouchsafe for her safety. She studied Snape’s dark eyes, wishing she had access to the thoughts beyond them. Hermione could sense nothing from him except quiet impatience.

“I believe we are beyond those questions now, Miss Granger.” He was right, of course. The minute she’d admitted she knew Draco was a Death Eater, she’d put herself in his hands.

“Why do you need to know?” she pressed. “Won’t Draco tell you when the time is right?”

A glower settled over Snape’s features. “Mr. Malfoy believes I am trying to steal his glory, I doubt he will tell me anything until it is too late to plan effectively.”

Hermione swallowed. “He believes he must complete the task without help, to prove himself and ensure that he lives.”

“He is not wrong, the Dark Lord will see any show of weakness as a sign of failure. He is expecting Draco to fail and for his subsequent death to be a punishment for Lucius’ shortcomings.” Snape read the mounting panic within her eyes. “The Dark Lord will, however, be forgiving if Draco’s actions do bring about Dumbledore’s demise, even if the act is not by his hand.”

Hermione’s breath released. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything.”

So she told him about the room of hidden things, the makeshift graveyard and the wards she’d set upon the cabinet. When she was done, his eyes shone with begrudging respect. “I would not have thought you to be so resourceful or cunning, Miss Granger.”

Hermione wasn’t sure that was a compliment, and even if it was, she didn’t like it. She had become ruthless in this fight, lying to everyone who mattered, even Draco. She wasn’t proud of who she’d become, however necessary the transition had been.

“Tell me when your wards change.” She nodded. They’d come to an agreement that Hermione would continue to surveil the Vanishing Cabinet, only updating Snape when she’d confirmed living creatures could travel through it. He, in turn, would let her know when the Death Eaters were poised to attack. It would then be her job to minimize collateral damage as Snape ensured the success of Draco’s mission.

It was insane, to think she and her grimy potions professor were planning to dupe not one, but two sides. They were plotting against Harry and Dumbledore as much as they were Voldemort and his minions. She’d known Snape walked a thin line, but now that she stood upon it with him, she felt how truly precarious his position was.

“Why are you helping me?” She understood why he was helping Draco, the Unbreakable Vow, but why include Hermione? Why trust her with such delicate information?

His eyes misted over for a brief moment, going softer than she’d ever seen them. “Let’s just say I wish I’d had someone half as willing to fight for me as you are for Draco. Do not give up on him, Miss Granger.”

“I won’t, I promise.” And she meant every bit of it. Hell, she’d make the Unbreakable Vow to protect him as well if she could.

“I trust you’ll keep this conversation to yourself?” His dark eyes were sharp again. “Remember that although you seem to have no problem hiding knowledge from your fellow Griffindors, Mr. Malfoy can delve into your thoughts, if given the opportunity. Protect us all and stay away from him, at least for now.”

As much as her heart ached at the prospect, she knew Snape was right. What she knew now was dangerous, not only to herself, but to Draco and even the entire Order of the Phoenix. Snape had made it very clear that no one, aside from perhaps Dumbledore, was privy to his involvement in Draco’s mission. So Hermione resolved to hold out just a bit longer, to allow Draco’s icy veneer to come between them once more.

“Good luck, Miss Granger.”

“You too, Professor.”


	18. Eighteen

**~*~Eighteen~*~**

 

It had taken ten days of Harry’s green eyes staring holes in the back of her head for Hermione to work up the courage to talk to Ron. She still had no idea what she was going to say as she led him out of the castle, the late April sun bathing the grounds in the light of spring. The scent of flowers cloyed the air as they walked slowly along the path to Hagrid’s hut.

Ron glanced sideways at her, his blue eyes hesitant. “Harry said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I do,” Hermione tried to believe the words. In fact, she very much did not want to talk to Ron, especially to tell him she was involved with Draco bloody Malfoy. But it had to better than him hearing it from Harry.

Sensing her unease, Ron sighed. “Just spit it out. It can’t possibly be that bad. It’s not like you’re shagging McLaggen or anything.”

If only it was that innocuous. Taking a deep breath, she paused, turning to fully face him. “While you were seeing Lavender…”

“You started seeing someone else,” he discerned. His cheeks flushed as he shook his head. “I really did bugger it all up, didn’t I?”

Hermione truly wanted to tell him he hadn’t, but compared to the conflagration between her and Draco, Ron was a pitiful candle, no longer making her feel anything beyond platonic love. And she did still love him very much indeed, but it would never again be in the way he wished.

“It just wasn’t meant to be.”

Ron nodded morosely. “No chance you’ll be changing your mind anytime soon?”

“No, I’m sorry. I really am…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Do I at least get to know to know who the bloke is I’ve lost out to?” He looked so sad and lonely as he stared down at her, his blue eyes misty. Hermione hated to twist the dagger, but she had promised Harry and that, at least, was a promise she could keep.

“Draco Malfoy.”

The name hung between them for infinite seconds, Ron’s eyes blown wide. His mouth worked silently before he could finally conjure words. “What? You must be bloody joking.”

“I’m not.” She held his desolate stare as long as she could bear, finally turning away when hot coals of anger displaced the shock.

“Hermione, please tell me you did not just say that you’re snogging Malfoy.” She knew he’d heard her correctly and didn’t deign to give a reply. “Have you shagged him?”

Hermione glared up at Ron. “That is none of your bloody business.”

“It is when my best friend has gone mental and is shacking up with the enemy.” Ron’s eyes narrowed she continued to glare. “You have, haven’t you? Bloody hell, Hermione. What could you have possibly been thinking? Does he have you under the Imperius Curse?”

“No he does not,” she spat. “And I’ll have you know I’m highly offended by that question. You should know that I would never do anything I didn’t want to do. And that includes Draco.”

Ron’s eyes hardened at the sound of his name passing through her lips. “It’s Draco now, is it?”

“Yes.” She was annoyed he’d riled her up this much, annoyed that he’d not followed Harry’s path of reserved acceptance. But what else had she expected? Ron had always been ruled by emotion and this was poking the sleeping tiger.

Eyes still simmering, Ron ground out his next question. “How long? How long have you been bloody lying to me, Hermione?”

She was still lying to him. “Months, Ron. We’ve been seeing each other for months.”

“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head, hands tearing at his hair. “You’ve gone bloody mad.”

“These are mad times we live in.” That, at least, was the truth. Ron merely glared at her, the attempt at morbid humor falling decidedly flat.

“Does Harry know?”

She nodded, putting up a hand to halt the next tirade hovering on his lips. “Harry only knows because he nearly killed Draco the other day and I was there.”

“The incident in the bathroom.” Some of the accusation faded from Ron’s face. “All he would tell me is that Snape gave him the worst detention of his life. I thought it was because he’d buggered up an assignment. Did he really nearly kill the bastard?”

Hermione’s ire rose, he eyes flashing as she replied, “Ronald, just because you do not like Draco Malfoy does not give you any right to make light of his near death at the hands of Harry.”

Ron seemed surprisingly cowed by her outburst. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I just don’t understand what you could possibly see in the git. Of course I don’t actually want Harry to have killed him.”

“It’s a relief to know you don’t want your best friend to turn into a cold blooded killer.”

This time her attempt at humor brought a wry smile to his lips. “I’m not going to say I understand, but I do respect you and if you want to waste your time with that bloody git, then that’s your choice to make.”

“How very mature of you, Ron,” Hermione muttered.

Ron shrugged, his eyes clear again. “That’s the best you’re going to get. I hope you didn’t expect me to give you my blessing or undying support. I think he’s a bloody git and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

“Can you at least stop calling him a bloody git?”

“Is he going to stop calling me Weasel?”

Ron made a fair point. There was no way Draco was going to start playing nice with either Harry or Ron, especially considering even she and Draco were on tenuous terms at best. It was probably better that Draco never even learn that Harry and Ron were now aware of his entanglement with Hermione. He’d probably Crucio them in their sleep and fling them off the Astronomy Tower. She winced at the thought. He obviously knew Harry was aware of something after the bloody scene in the bathroom, but perhaps it was best if they left it at that. There was too much in motion to add another variable to the delicate balance.

“I doubt it.” She sighed, brushing a stand of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, we’re on a… break… right now and I don’t even know if it’ll go anywhere.”

Ron appeared somewhat mollified by her admission. “So you’re not eloping with him and having a slew of half-blood kids?”

Hermione’s nose scrunched up, a wild giggle escaping her. “Most definitely not.”

“Your kids would be terrifying,” Ron continued, the twinkle in his eyes reminding her of Fred or George. “His pompous assiness combined with your…”

Her finger shot into the air, hovering above his mouth. “Not another word from you, Ronald Weasley. I’m regretting telling you anything at all.”

The humor dissipated from his eyes. “Seriously though, thank you for being honest, even if it was a bit late.”

And not nearly enough. Her smile was wistful as she leaned against Ron. “Thanks for not completely freaking out.”

“I think I did fairly well, considering,” he protested, his arm draping around her shoulders. “I mean you did pretty much make my nightmares come true.”

Hermione grimaced. “You know I would…”

Ron’s arm dropped away, his eyes hollow with acceptance. “I know.”

The walked the castle grounds silently after that, Hermione leading them past the graveyard to check for fresh mounds. There were none. Her gut twisted, her pulse leaping against her throat. No new birds for over two weeks meant one thing, Draco had succeeded. Hermione suddenly felt a world apart from Ron and the drama of teenage heartbreak.


	19. Nineteen

**~*~Nineteen~*~**

 

Time had stolen forward, May flowers budding across the grounds as Hermione continued to monitor Draco’s progress from afar. Although it had been nearly a month since their night in the infirmary, she hadn’t spoken to him, or even looked at him for longer than a few seconds, Snape’s warning always with her. Instead she’d spent her time manipulating the wards until she was sure she knew the difference between animate and inanimate objects crossing between the Vanishing Cabinets. Although the birds lived now, Draco had shown no signs of using the cabinets. Hermione couldn’t be sure what he was waiting for, only that he was capable of striking at any moment.

It was therefore somewhat harrowing to find him standing beside the exit to the Room of Requirement after her latest check of the wards. She’d been sure he was in the Dungeons, having checked all other possible public locations. Harry no longer lent her the Marauders’ Map, his trust in her understandably frayed.

Hermione swallowed, focusing on a spot beyond his shoulder. Draco continued to lean against the wall, making no move to come closer. “What exactly is Griffindor’s Golden Girl doing in the Room of Requirement?”

There was no way he could know she’d been in the room of hidden things. “I’m allowed to use the room however I see fit, that is, after all, the entire point of it.”

He scoffed. “Don’t play coy, Mudblood.”

She wanted to slap him over and over again until he never said that word again. Even more so than before, it was spoken to hurt her, to impress upon her the distance between them. She understood his aim and still the wound festered. Her teeth ground as she attempted to maintain her cool. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

“It has come to my attention, well it came to my attention quite a while ago, but let’s not tarry over semantics, that you have a particularly good disillusionment charm.” So he hadn’t forgotten that night in the hospital wing, not that she thought he would. She’d hoped he would have the decency to pretend to forget, but then again, he wasn’t the type to leave an advantage on the table.

“So what if I do?” Hermione still did not look at him.

“How long have you been following me, Granger?” His tone was frigid, a promise of retribution.

“I haven’t been following you.” It sounded weak even to her ears. In truth, she hadn’t been following him since she’d found his use of the Room of Requirement, but knowing about the room was a much worse thing to admit.

He sighed, his arms crossing over his broad chest. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall a day I went to the Forbidden Forest and when I turned around to come back, my tracks were gone. Why in the world were my tracks gone, Granger?”

She shrugged, doing her best to keep her wild heart from racing out of control. “I don’t know, Malfoy. Maybe it was windy or snowy?”

“Ah, it was indeed snowy, but there was hardly enough coming down to change my footprints. Do you know what that means?” He stepped into her space, the warmth of him radiating through her. “It means someone erased them and I’m entirely sure that someone was you.”

She merely blinked at his shoulder, fighting the effect he had on her. “And why do you think that?”

“Let’s call it intuition.” There was a dark humor in his voice that sent chills down her spine. “Why aren’t you looking at me, Granger? You always look at me.”

Draco was right. She’d never before looked away, but now there was so much he couldn’t discover and no matter how much she wanted to drown in his liquid silver eyes, she would not meet his gaze. “Maybe I can’t stand to look at you.”

He chuckled, deep and compelling. His mouth brushed against her ear, sending shockwaves through her, “I very much doubt that you’ve had so drastic a change of heart.”

His lips continued to trace fire down her neck. She wanted to push him away, she wanted to pull him closer, but she did neither, frozen in place by her sense of duty. He could kiss her, make her want to melt into him, threaten her, anything, and she could not rise to the bait. His fate mattered too much to get caught in his dangerous games.

“Don’t you have anything better to be doing?” She was surprised by the sharp edge to her voice, so sure the fear in her veins would make it tremble.

He pulled away, his expression confused. He hid the emotion almost immediately, but Hermione had seen the doubt chase across his features. She quickly looked away. “Fine, Granger. I have no idea what you’re playing at, but stop.”

His tone was deathly serious now, any hint of mocking long gone. Hermione fought the urge to look up at him, sure that some of frost would have melted from his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” His arms crossed front of him, his robe falling away. “Granger, we’re not playing with fire; it’s so much worse than that. Trust me when I say you need to stay way. The cost, to either of us, will be too steep if you don’t.”

Hermione bloody well knew that. “I won’t get in your way.”

That, bizarrely, was true now. With Snape ensuring the success of Draco’s mission, Hermione no longer needed a plan to stop him. It was, in fact, within her best interests to ensure that he was unimpeded, which likely meant making sure Harry didn’t make a mess of things.

Draco sighed, turning away from her. “I will do what I must, Granger.”

“Even if it involves hurting me.” She filled in the unspoken words. “I know.”

“Don’t make me do it.” It was almost a plea. She still wouldn’t look at his face, but she could see the slight tremble of his hands.

“I won’t.”

He turned on his heel and was gone before she could blink, let alone look up. Quaking, she collapsed against the wall behind her. She had done it, just like she’d promised Snape she would, but it had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done. Hermione rubbed her hand across her eyes, trying to massage the tension away. Between Harry and Ron’s unpleasant stares when they thought she wasn’t looking and the constant anxiety over her role in the coming attack it was a wonder she was even halfway sane.

Her nights had been mostly restless, Draco’s haunting silver eyes following her in sleep. She’d often wake from a dream of him to feel his stare still upon her, his kiss still upon her lips. Where before she’d hated the way he haunted her, now she welcomed it. If she wasn’t able to have him, then this was all she had left. It might be all she ever had, the ghost of his memory against her skin.

She tried to look less discombobulated as a group of third years hurried past, laughter on their lips. To be young and unencumbered by the harsh truths of reality. They barely glanced her way, too lost in the latest gossip. Hermione had never been one to enjoy such girly pursuits as chitchat, but right now, she would give anything to have Lavender Brown’s latest tawdry exploits be her only concern.

Instead, the fate of Hogwarts was firmly in her hands. While Snape could ensure a successful mission for the Dark Lord, it was up to Hermione to protect her classmates and professors. No pressure at all. She groaned, her head thumping back against the castle wall.

“Too many Nargles?” Luna stood before Hermione, her pale eyes wide with concern.

“Godric, yes.”

Luna handed her an unmarked vial. “Put a drop of this on your pillow before bed every night.”

A different, less stressed Hermione would have scoffed. As it were, Hermione only nodded, taking the vial and dropping it in her robe pocket. Who knew, maybe Luna’s hair brained potion would work. She’d been on tenterhooks for too long; it was now a matter of when, not if, she would lose it completely. Her hand was back on her temples, the headache mounting.

Thankfully, Luna took pity on her. “I have some food in my dorm that I had the house elves deliver earlier while I was tracking Blibbering Humdingers. Would you want to go to eat dinner with me there? I can’t afford to loose my concentration and the Great Hall is always so noisy.”

Hermione didn’t care if they counted imaginary creatures from dusk until dawn. An escape from Harry, Ron, Draco and even Snape was just what she needed right now.

“Lead the way.”

A delighted smile graced Luna’s pale features, her eyes sparkling. Hermione couldn’t understand a word her friend said as they made their way toward the Ravenclaw Tower, but she felt brighter than she had in days.


	20. Twenty

**~*~Twenty~*~**

 

Hermione packed up her notes from the latest Defense Against the Dark Arts class, one of the last scheduled before the revising period for their final exams. She was dropping the scrolls into her messenger bag when Snape slid by her.

“A word, Miss Granger.”

Her breath caught, but she did her best to nod noncommittally as he swept past. She slanted her eyes toward Harry and Ron, but they were already heading out the door. They’d both been distant since the truth, or at least that tiny sliver of it, had been forced out of her. They still all huddled over the notes they’d gathered on Horcruxes, trying to divine the identity and whereabouts of Voldemort’s soul fragments. But beyond such things, the boys had taken to leaving Hermione behind. She’d had dinner with Luna in Ravenclaw more often than not, thankful to be away from the prying eyes of fellow Griffindors and the dangerous silver eyes of the boy she loved.

It had been after her tenth sleepless night that she’d finally allowed herself to face facts. She was in love with Draco Malfoy. That horrible kind of Romeo and Juliet love that usually ended with all parties deceased or a man launching a thousand ships. It was epic and it was a curse. Hermione would feel any other way about him if she could, but the heart wanted what it wanted and in her case that meant it wanted a Death Eater on mission to kill her headmaster who was willing to take her down if the situation called for it.

She’d thought about telling Luna, the girl had been so kind to her when she confessed her liaison during the Christmas holiday, but speaking the words was a whole different battle, one she was unwilling to put herself through when so much else hung before her. So she ate with Luna and talked about imaginary creatures until she could almost forget his silver eyes and broken soul.

She surveyed the classroom again, finding Draco lingering by the door. Her gaze bounced away, ever vigilant of his Legilimency skills. Snape cleared his throat at the front of the room.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Malfoy?”

She could feel Draco’s eyes boring holes through her head for a tense moment before he muttered, “Not right now, Professor.”

Snape waited to speak again until the door banged shut. Then he moved toward Hermione, his dark eyes sinister. “The date has been set. Dumbledore plans to take Potter on one of his Horcrux hunts this Thursday night. I have seen to it that Draco has accepted late that evening as the time to put the cabinets into action.”

“He told you?” Her pulse was drumming a steady tattoo against her neck. Thursday. Two days from now and it would all change.

Snape’s tone was infused with dark humor. “Young Mister Malfoy realized I was the only one he could trust to communicate with the Dark Lord. It’s not like he was going to be sending owl out with the information on an attack at Hogwarts.”

No, Draco was decidedly more intelligent than that. “Then it is in motion.”

“It is. I will be here to greet our guests if you promise to keep Potter out of the equation. Dumbledore has hinted that he will keep the boy neutralized if the need occurs, but the old man’s mind is slowly going the way of his arm and I will not have Potter ruining this.”

Hermione couldn’t help but agree. Harry’s Griffindor sensibilities had him rushing into trouble without thinking first more often than not. She might be putting herself on the line, but at least she’d come up with more than half a plan. “I can keep Harry occupied if need be.”

“Good. You’ll need to follow them when they leave, that way you can know their likely destination upon returning to the castle. I also trust that you will know when our visitors arrive thanks to your wards. Once they do, I will lead them to the location you indicated Dumbledore has returned to. Send a Patronus as soon as you know. You must separate Potter from Dumbledore before Draco or I arrive.”

Distract Harry. It sounded so easy, but Hermione knew better. If their mission were successful, Harry would likely be carting a Horcrux back to Hogwarts; that meant it was paramount that she not allow him to interact with the Death Eaters. Any hint that he knew about Voldemort’s soul fragments, however tangentially, and the very future of the Wizarding world was put in danger. She took a harrowing breath. Just like studying for OWLs, only this time failure was truly not an option.

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Miss Granger? What we aim to do is not for the faint of heart.”

It was not, but what else had she been preparing for all year? If anything, Draco had trained her for this moment, prepared her to stand against him. He had taken her innocence, and for that she was grateful. He’d taught her to hold two truths in her mind, to be at once light and dark, to live within the gray between. The world was now a sea of gray, and all she had left was to stay afloat. So she’d learned to do what she must and bear the consequences, however painful they were.

She leveled her gaze at Snape, willing him to peer beyond her solemn eyes. “I am ready.”

Hermione could feel the faint brush of him against her thoughts, as gentle as a summer breeze. “And so you are.”

“I will not fail him, Professor.”

Snapes eyes dimmed, his expression shuttered. “I know. You should hope he does not fail you.”

She could not say she hadn’t considered the possibility. Even if Snape freed Draco of his murderous mandate, he might not take that freedom. And even if he did step back and let Snape take the glory, where did Hermione fit into his future? He was still a Death Eater, still beholden to Voldemort above all others. Unless his parents were both safely sequestered away, his soul would never be hers, never be safe from the perilous reach of Voldemort.

But those were mere what ifs, all predicated on the success of their efforts. So she would not dwell on these uneasy thoughts, would instead let them slide into the back of her mind where they could not interfere with the fragile plan.

Snape took a step closer, his features hard, but his dark eyes suffused with emotion. “This is no easy task, Ms. Granger. It is no small thing we do, but we do it because we must, because the alternative is unthinkable. Do not forget that.”

Hermione nodded. She would once again ask too much of herself, but that was the only option. The forces of darkness were gathering, more potent than ever, and if she could make a stand, no matter what it took from her, she would.

“I’ll send the Patronus as soon as I know,” she promised, resolution quelling her nerves.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Snape spun away, dark robes billowing. She finished packing her bag. Hermione paused a moment at the door, waiting until the flurry of butterflies dancing in her stomach subsided. When she finally turned the handle, she could almost pretend it was any other Tuesday.

“You’re up to something.”

Draco stood across the hall from the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, arms crossed and silver eyes burning. Hermione almost shut the door in his face, but she stifled the urge, moving to lean against the wall next to him. This way she could avoid his eyes without arousing as much suspicion.

“Am I?” She replied, her words boasting confidence despite the adrenaline racing through her.

“Yes, Granger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you willingly stick around one of Snape’s classes in the six years we’ve shared them. If I didn’t know better, you looked downright intrigued when he asked you to stay.”

She could feel his eyes, but ignored the urge to turn to him and meet those compelling silver orbs full on. “You’ve found me out, Malfoy, I thought my extra credit assignment would be a secret right up until I got the best grade in our year. Not that you’re in contention for that one. I don’t think you’ve turned anything in all term.”

“Very mature, Granger.” Hermione could hear him sigh. “I guess it’s alright if you don’t want to tell me anything, I’ll find out eventually. You know I will.”

And he definitely would, likely by midnight on Thursday. “I’m not letting you steal my project idea.”

“We both know we’re not talking about that.” She risked a sideways glance at him. His head was tipped back against the stone wall, his eyes screwed shut. She took advantage of the moment to drink him. His pale skin was translucent, his features sharper than ever. It appeared he’d been sleeping even less than she had. The dark circles under his eyes stood out, unmistakable even in the dim light of the dungeons. She wanted to trace them with her lips, to hear the sigh of his breath against her ear, to know he was safe in her arms.

Hermione watched, hypnotized, as his full lips worked silently for a long moment. Finally he spoke, his voice a rasp of air and dread, “Don’t leave your dorm on Thursday evening. Whatever you do, Granger, don’t leave Griffindor Tower.”

Her breath lodged in her chest. Hermione could hardly believe it. He had just warned her, and by association all those she knew of the coming attack. Of course, she had no intention of staying sequestered away, but he had no idea what had transpired between her and Professor Snape. He was simply warning her, the boy inside breaking loose to protect her, as much as he could allow. More than ever she wanted to melt against him, to make him know he wasn’t alone now and wouldn’t be on Thursday either.

But she didn’t, instead letting out a wavering breath before finding words, words that would convince him she’d be nowhere near the action. “Sure, I was planning on turning in early anyway, there’s the final potions assignment due on Friday and I’m not sure my latest draft is up to snuff. I’ll probably rewrite it in the common room.”

He swallowed silently, relief evident in his exhausted features. “Good.”

His silver eyes were open now, winding through her soul. Her lids snapped shut, cutting off his broken face from her hungry eyes. She could hear the low growl escape his throat beside her, sending delightful tingles through her.

“Fine, Mudblood. Have it your way.” The venom was stronger than ever, each word a slashing knife. She physically recoiled from him, her robes snagging on the uneven stone. His voice was hiss in her ear as he followed her retreat. “I can destroy you, don’t think I won’t.”

Hermione wanted to slap him, scream at him, look at him, but she held strong despite the water welling within her eyes. Let the tears come; she was unashamed for she alone could save him from himself.

The searing heat of his breath retreated, followed by the rhythm of his footfalls until she was alone again. All those months ago Draco had fooled her into believing that malice was all he was, but she knew far better now. She’d seen him gently burry sparrow after sparrow, seen his despondent eyes as his tattoo stood darkly against his pale skin, felt his heart flutter against her hand as he surrendered to sleep. He could not hide from her.


	21. Twenty One

**~*~Twenty One~*~**

 

Thursday dawned as every other day, a streak of light against the horizon, the call of birds dancing in the wind. Hermione hadn’t even tried to sleep, instead spending the night counting the stars atop the astronomy tower, wishing upon every shooting star. Her neck was stiff, her eyes bleary, but she had no doubt that once the day began in earnest, the adrenaline would keep her on point.

The great hall was mostly empty when she arrived, only a handful of Ravenclaws diligently revising before breakfast. She took a seat at the Griffindor table, heaping porridge into a bowl. She would eat while she still could, the nerves likely to curdle her stomach as soon as she faced Harry, Draco, Snape or Professor Dumbledore. She knew this was his last day, knowledge the man himself likely shared. That hardly made it better; to know he’d orchestrated his own death by Snape’s hand to spare Draco. For what could she give that compared with laying down one’s life?

Hermione tossed her hair, trying to clear such impossible thoughts from her head. There was still a good twelve hours before all hell broke loose and she couldn’t afford to waver for a single one of those hours. The porridge tasted like wood in her mouth, but she kept eating, forcing the nutrition down her throat.

Snape and Dumbledore entered together, Snape’s eyes briefly locking with hers as they walked to the professor’s table. She looked away, unable bear the sight. Harry and Ron came next, their conversation natural as they discussed the latest quidditch match.

Hermione’s eyes glossed over as she listened; the urge to turn back time overwhelming her. If only they could all go back to when they were mere children, when quidditch was truly the most exciting thing and no one had ever heard of Voldemort. Of course, that universe had never existed, but oh, did she wish with all her heart that it had. A world where Draco could just have been a boy, not a handcrafted monster. A world where Harry’s green eyes sparkled with joy, free from the burden cast upon him. A world where Ron had kissed her years ago and they laughed about it now. A world where Hermione didn’t have the fate of those she loved on her shoulders. A world with love, not hate, and peace, not war. An impossible world.

Classes were the same as always, but no matter how hard she tried, Hermione’s notes were a jumble of disjointed words, lacking all use. She kept her head down, her hand only raised when no one else volunteered. She frantically tracked the arc of the sun across the sky, the tremble in her hands growing as the bright sphere dipped further toward the green horizon.

Harry caught up to her after their last class, transfiguration. “Hermione…”

She paused to let him fall into step with her as she headed toward the Griffindor Tower. “What’s up?”

His green eyes were somber. “Today’s the day. We’re finding the next Horcrux.”

“Now?” She glanced at him, her voice holding the surprise she didn’t feel. No, now only dread was left, hanging heavily over her heart.

Harry nodded, a hand running through his black nest of hair. “I didn’t want to tell Ron yet, he tends to get jealous when I have to do these things on my own, but I know you understand.”

Did she ever. “Are you meeting him now?”

“Yeah, top of the Astronomy Tower. Apparently you can apparate from Hogwarts if you’re Albus Dumbledore.” Harry shook his head in rueful admiration.

Hermione gaped at him for a good second before recovering. She’d read Hogwarts: A History from cover to cover at least six times now. It stated in no uncertain terms that one could not apparate within the wards. “You’re joking.”

“Afraid not,” Harry replied, sheepish. “I guess it’s one of those things you just have to see to believe.”

“I guess so.” She would definitely be seeing that. Apparation within the grounds? What next? Vanishing Cabinets sequestering Death Eaters? Hermione grimaced; her humor was getting a little too dark.

Harry startled Hermione when he threw his arms around her. “I know we haven’t been on the best of terms, ‘Mione, but I want you to know I love you, no matter what.”

It sounded too much like goodbye. Hermione gripped him tightly, her hands clasping his robes to prevent them from trembling. “I love you too, Harry. No matter what happens, know I love you.”

His lips brushed against her forehead. “I know, ‘Mione. I know.”

“Good,” she couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice now. “Promise me you won’t forget, that you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I promise.” His words were strong, his eyes confident, but Hermione knew better. She grasped him one last time before he slipped away from her, his robes falling from her limp hands. He held her gaze, his green eyes strong despite it all. Finally, he turned away, changing course for the Astronomy Tower.

Hermione waited until his footfalls ceased to echo before casting her disillusionment charm and following in his path. As she approached the tower, climbing the stairs that still meant too much to her, she could hear the muffled tones of Harry and Dumbledore talking.

“I promised you could accompany me, and I stand by that promise.” Dumbledore paused as Hermione tiptoed closer, hardly daring to breathe. “But there is one condition. You must obey every command I give you without question.”

Harry’s voice was controlled as he replied, “Yes, Sir.”

Hermione was close enough now to see them both. Dumbledore was peering down at Harry with an expression she’d never seen, not with affection or hope, but with painful truth. “Should I tell you to hide, you hide. Should I tell you to run, you run. Should I tell you to abandon me and save yourself, you must do so.”

The chill that had been working it’s way though her surged again, her fingers trembling around her wand. Dumbledore knew the chain of events he was putting into action, knew that he was breaking Harry’s heart, and yet he did not waver. She was in horrified awe of his ability to look beyond himself, beyond Harry, and do what must be done. She prayed she had even half his strength when this night tested her.

“Do I have your word, Harry?” Harry’s word that he would stand aside as Dumbledore died. That’s what he was asking. Hermione’s stomach churned at the knowledge that she’d promised to do the same.

“My word,” Harry agreed, the wheels of tragedy moving forward.

They apparated a moment later, becoming nothing but remembered voices echoing in her ears. Hermione froze for a long moment, unable to find a happy enough thought to cast her patronus. At last, the melancholy abated enough for her to recall happier occasions amongst these parapets. With the specter of Draco’s lips caressing her skin, the otter bust forth from her wand, beginning its journey to Snape.

Now there was only silence, the dying sun her only companion as she waited in the warm night. It seemed odd that the breeze was so sweet with spring, a hint of summer teasing against her skin. The chill of winter would be better suited for this night, for there was no bright cheer, no balm to the soul at the end of this vigil. Indeed, death would be her only companion, a singular event if all went to plan. But there was so much that could go wrong, so much loss that hung in the balance.

Hermione watched sparrows circle the castle as the sun sank lower, the horizon finally swallowing it whole. The birds’ chatter gave way to the sounds of insects humming. And still she waited, poised for action, paralyzed with dread. Would she be able to keep her promise? When the moment came would she be able to remain stalwart?

Yes, she told herself over and over again until it was a prayer on her lips, a mantra to save her from the doubt. Yes. The price was too high, and she’d already sacrificed so much.

Even the insects were quiet now; the only sound the harsh pant of her breath against the balmy air. Her wand burned against her hand. She stared down at it, unwilling to believe. It burned again. Another passenger and then another until she was trembling, terror eclipsing the silent night.

Hermione wanted to fling her wand away, to unknow what was coming. Her fingernails clawed into her palms, the burn bringing sense swaying back to her. They were coming, all six of them if you counted Draco and Snape. Where were Harry and Dumbledore? Would the intruders arrive too soon, before she could sequester Harry away from deadly wands? She reengaged her disillusionment charm as she stared with bated breath at the spot they’d apparated from. Seconds bled into minutes as no one appeared, from below or beyond.


	22. Twenty Two

**~*~Twenty Two~*~**

 

Hermione nearly cried in relief when Harry and Dumbledore suddenly emerged before her. Dumbledore was stumbling, leaning against Harry in a way that left no doubt as to his condition.

“We need to get you to hospital wing, Sir. To Madam Pomfrey,” Harry told him, green eyes wild.

“No,” Dumbledore protested, his gray hair flying about in the warm breeze. “Severus is who I need. Get Severus and tell no one else.”

Hermione frowned at his words. He knew Snape’s plans, at least as far as she’d been aware. Why in the world was he telling Harry that Snape would save him, especially when it was another type of balm he would receive? Harry was saved the trouble when a door banged in the stairway below. Now was the moment when it all fell into place or fell apart.

“Hide yourself below. Do not speak or be seen without my permission. It is absolutely imperative you stay below, no matter what happens, ” Dumbledore cautioned Harry, leaning heavily against the parapets. She could see the battle wage in Harry’s eyes, but he quickly followed Dumbledore’s instructions, just as he’d promised. Relief cut through the mounting adrenaline as Hermione followed him, standing a few feet beyond Harry as he peered at the scene above.

She could sense Draco before he even turned the corner, her pulse jumping into the stratosphere. Harry’s eyes glowed with rage as he watched Draco point his wand at the headmaster. The Slytherin was pure ice, his eyes sharp as knives.

“ _Expelliarmus_.”

Dumbledore’s wand snapped into Draco’s hand. She could see the surprise bloom behind the old man’s eyes. He hadn’t thought Draco would be so bold. He was in for an unpleasant surprise.

“Draco, to what do I owe the pleasure?” It was a feeble question from an even feebler man.

Draco crossed the distance, now standing directly above Harry and Hermione. “Ah, professor, how unfortunate to find you so alone, so utterly unable to defend yourself.”

Draco was going to do it; she could see it in the iron set of his shoulders and the frost of his eyes. Hermione risked a glance toward the stairs, willing Snape to appear. Harry shifted beside her, his wand slowly rising to point at Draco. Her heartbeat was a stampede of Hippogriffs in her ears as she watched Harry begin to speak.

Before she could doubt herself, she’d silenced him, dropping the disillusionment spell. Harry spun to face her, fury washing away disbelief as he studied her. Hermione held her ground, casting a silent _Expelliarmus_ that landed his wand in her hand before he could do anything rash. His green eyes flashed as he moved toward her. She let him come within inches of her, his eyes screaming betrayal. She didn’t have time to argue, didn’t have the strength to do what had to be done with his eyes boring holes in her soul. So she whispered, “ _Stupefy_ ,” catching him as he collapsed against her and lowering him silently to the deck.

The pit of her stomach had dropped out as she watched Harry fall toward her, unfathomable rage frozen in his eyes. She allowed herself a lingering glance at him before moving away, her focus returning to the scene above.

“Draco, I once knew a boy who made all the wrong choices,” Dumbledore was saying, Tom Riddle clearly the boy in question. “I did not help him when I could have, and I will forever regret that. Let me help you, Draco.”

A chilling sneer twisted Draco’s lips. “I’ve seen what your help does, old man, and I’ll pass. I’m more than capable of helping myself.” He tugged his sleeve up, revealing the dark tattoo twisting against his flesh.

Dumbledore’s eyes shuttered for a moment. Perhaps he hadn’t known the truth. Snape had never told her how much he’d shared with Dumbledore. Maybe Draco’s status as a Death Eater had been conveniently omitted. The headmaster pushed himself to stand, his arms shaking against the rail.

“That’s only a mark, boy, not the truth of what’s inside.” Draco’s wand didn’t waver, his glacial expression unchanged. “Let me help you.”

There was a flash of life, of suffering, behind Draco’s silver eyes for the briefest of moments, so minuscule Hermione would have doubted if she had not known him so well. “It’s too late, old man.”

Hermione’s heart plummeted, her soul howling in protest as Draco aimed his wand.

“ _Avada_ —“

“ _Kedavra_ ,” Snape finished from the stairs, the jets of green light converging in a shower of sparks before consuming Dumbledore. The headmaster tumbled against the parapets, his sightless eyes staring though Hermione. She whimpered as he pitched backwards, toppling into the blackness.

Bellatrix Lestrange’s cackles filled the spring air. “I always knew he had it in him, ‘Cissy’s boy’s a killer! ‘Cissy’s boy’s a killer!”

Hermione wanted to cleave Bellatrix’s head from her body, if only to silence the horrific chant. Draco remained rooted in place, his eyes focused on the spot Dumbledore had stood.

One of the other Death Eaters, for all but Bellatrix, Snape and Draco were masked, shrieked, “ _Morsmordre_!”

The screaming skull launched above, casting them all in sickening green light. Snape’s robes billowed as he turned for the stairs. “Yes, very intelligent, Montague. Need I remind you that while our mission may be complete, we have not yet taken this castle? I would recommend a hasty retreat if we want to survive to aid in the true conquest of Hogwarts.”

Bellatrix leveled a pout at him, the glint in her eyes making Hermione shudder. “But Severus, why must you always ruin our fun?”

She did, however, begin to follow him down the stairs. The other masked men followed suit until only Draco was left. Hermione could see his jaw tense, the muscle twitching every so slightly, before he turned on his heel.

Hermione paused to consider Harry’s prone body. She had no idea if he’d had his invisibility cloak with him or not and she didn’t have time to find out. Draco would be out of her grasp within minutes and it wasn’t like the Death Eaters were coming back to the tower. So she left Harry, her heart splintering and her lips whispering silent apologies to the night wind.

Their escape went unimpeded, the castle eerily silent as they passed through. Hermione engaged her disillusionment charm as she stepped beyond the castle doors. Draco was mere meters from her, his blond hair ethereal in the light of the twisting Dark Mark. Bellatrix was in the lead now, her maniacal giggling the only sound beyond the whisper of the warm wind. Snape had fallen behind to walk beside Draco, his eyes periodically scanning the castle.

Pulse racing, Hermione edged closer. Her hands trembled, but her feet kept moving, inching ever closer. Snape’s eyes snapped to meet hers the next time he glanced back. His lips twitched, but his stride never broke. He slowed, the distance between Draco and the others growing as he unconsciously matched Snape’s stride.

As soon as the others disappeared down one of the grassy tors, Hermione made her move. Her wand was instantly at Draco’s back, _Petrificus Totalis_ whispered against his ear. Snape caught him as he fell, his dark eyes boring through her. She made no move to block him, to prevent him from exploring the resolve buried within her soul.

“This could turn out poorly for you, Miss Granger,” he warned.

“It already has.” She would not be deterred or frightened off. There was no place for fear now, only action.

Snape nodded, scanning the horizon. “I estimate you have a few hours at most before the questions become unanswerable.”

Hermione would take what she could get. Snape continued on his way, disappearing beyond the wards while she examined Draco. His silver eyes tore holes through her. She looked away. There was more to do before she’d let those eyes take her to pieces.

She levitated him along the grass, careful to keep him steady until they reached the Whomping Willow. She pulled the long stick from its hiding place in the dirt and pressed a knot on the tree. The bows froze in place, the night suddenly uncomfortably still. Swallowing, she maneuvered them through the door and along the passage to the Shrieking Shack.

Hermione placed him on the worn carpet, her hands sliding along his body until she had his wand in her hand. Only then, as she stood on the opposite side of the room, did she release him.

Draco shot to his feet, his glare promising ruination. He paced silently, her anxiety rising with every turn. When he finally spoke, his voice was rage personified. “Bloody hell, Mudblood. What the bloody fuck are you doing right now?” He shook his head, blonde hair flying. “No. Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. Just let me out of here. Now.”

The final word was not a request. Hermione didn’t budge, her eyes staring him down. “No.”

“I’m serious, you filthy Mudblood,” his eyes were glacial, his features carved of ice. “Get out of my bleeding way before I make you.”

She still stood, her flesh and blood the only thing between the endless night and him. “I said no.”

“I will hurt you.”

It was a promise, a promise she knew he would keep. Her jaw trembled as her teeth clenched, but she did not give way. “Then do it.”

He was wandless, but still dangerous as he advanced on her. “The brightest witch in her year, the filthy little Mudblood making all us Purebloods look bad. Too bad you forgot this.”

Dumbledore’s wand dangled between his fingers. Hermione’s blood ran cold. He was right, how could she possibly have forgotten he was armed with two wands, especially after watching him so coldly disarm the Headmaster? But still, she refused to flinch when he drew the wand along her neck, it’s tip jumping with her frantic pulse. She stared into his frigid eyes, daring him to look inside.

His hand caressed her cheek, as he murmured, “ _Crucio_.”

Hermione had been prepared, but it hardly mattered as her nerves screamed, invisible fire racing though her. The waves of agony continued until time was forgotten and all she knew was the scratch of her throat against the midnight air. Her limbs flopped helplessly against the ground, all vitality having drained away.

When he finally paused, she put all her energy into meeting his stare. Blood spilled from her lips as she murmured. “You can’t break me.”

Draco’s eyes were brittle steel as he leveled the wand again. “ _Sectumsempra_.” He knelt down beside her, his breath ghosting across her trembling lips. “I’ll have to thank Potter for that one.”

Hermione’s soul shattered into a million pieces. She gasped helplessly for air, but there was only blood. The room around them began to dim, his silver eyes swimming in and out of focus. She tried to shape his name with her lips, a plea or a curse, but nothing came. A wave of horror washed over her as each sense began to dull. She could barely feel the cold ground beneath her. Even the iron stench of blood had begun to fade.

She put all her remaining strength into staring up at him, willing him to feel. Draco remained a marble statue, but his eyes never left hers as the world dimmed, the edges of her vision closing in. His silver eyes were the last things she saw before the darkness claimed her.


	23. Twenty Three

**~*~Twenty Three~*~**

 

There was water flowing over her, a steady drip that ran down her cheeks and dried in her hair. Why was it raining beyond the veil? There was a muffled sound too, like someone weeping very far away. She blinked, the light was blinding. She tried again, the colors swam, the world a giant watercolor. On the third attempt she was able to make out a shape above her, floating unsteadily in the light.

“Wha…”

The words tore against her lips, pain drowning them out. Why was there still pain? Why did it feel like she’d been ripped apart until only her corpse remained? Surely the pain could not follow her here. Or perhaps it had and she would spend the rest of eternity lost in her final agonizing moments.

“Hermione.” Her name, repeated on the wind. It brushed against her ear again and again, a prayer.

Silver eyes swam into focus above her. Incomprehension swept through her. The eyes dipped closer and she could see the streams of water running from them. He was making it rain. Hermione tasted a drop on her lip, the salt burning her ravaged tongue. He was crying?

She tried again to speak. “Why?”

The word was a mere croak. He leaned closer, his platinum strands brushing against her cheeks. She could make out other words now as his lips moved against her skin.

“I’m so sorry, Hermione. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The chant continued. She raised a numb hand and dropped it against him, her fingers splaying over his chest. “Why?”

Her voice was stronger now. Draco paused in his mantra to stare back at her, silver eyes shattering. “I don’t know.” His hands cupped her cheeks, his fingers absentmindedly brushing his tears away. “I had done it. I’d killed him, or at least, halfway done it and then you were there, standing between me and salvation. A stupid muggle-born girl ruining everything I’d so carefully crafted. I couldn’t let you do that, not when I was so close to fulfilling everything he asked of me.”

“So you killed me.”

His hands tangled in her hair. “No, Hermione. I didn’t.”

She blinked. “I’m alive?”

Draco nodded vigorously. “I couldn’t do it. In the end, you were right. I couldn’t.”

“How’d you know how to heal me?” She remembered the green glow of the Sectumsempra spell. She’d thought only Snape knew the incantation to counteract it.

“I asked Snape the last time.” The time he’d been the one on the floor, blood streaming out of him as Harry stood above them.

“Why not go through with it?” Hermione murmured.

Raw silver eyes blinked down at her. “I just couldn’t.”

“Maybe it’s because I love you.”

A fresh sob tore from his throat as he stared down at her. “No, no you can’t. Look at you!” His voice broke as his eyes scanned her body. She followed his gaze, her clothes swimming into focus. She’d been wearing a white blouse and school issue skirt. They were shredded, a mess of red strips haphazardly clinging to her skin. Beneath, urgly red scars stood out against her pallid skin. “Look what I did to you.”

He’d shredded her. There was no denying that. His broken eyes swam into focus again. A smile began to pull against her lips. She’d done it. It had taken nearly everything from her, but she had done it. “I don’t care. I saved you.”

Draco stared down at her, incomprehension written across his face. “What?”

“I promised I would do anything to help you keep your soul,” she explained. “And I did.”

“I nearly killed you,” Draco countered, his head shaking.

“But you didn’t.”

Hermione pushed her way up to sit, swaying into his arms as he steadied her. “I did kill Dumbledore.”

Her head lolled against his chest, his heartbeat pounding against her ear. “You did, but you had help.”

“Snape,” Draco acknowledged, his deep voice vibrating against her. He angled his head down to look into her eyes. “You and Snape were up to something.”

She held his gaze. “You can look if you want.”

Draco shook his head, his fingers tracing aimless patterns on her skin. “I’d rather you tell me.”

“He figured out I knew you were a Death Eater after the incident with Harry.” There was a brief pause as they both stared down at her crisscrossing scars. Hermione cleared her throat. “He also knew I knew what your mission was, but since I hadn’t turned you in, he also figured I would help in his efforts to relieve you of your mission.”

“I thought the slimy bastard wanted all the glory.”

“Hardly. He wanted to spare you the crime,” she explained.

Draco let out a long sigh. “So he really is a Double Agent, but for Dumbledore.” He swallowed. “The Order of the Phoenix now I suppose.”

“I don’t know his reasons, but you can trust that he is not on Voldemort’s side.” Hermione shifted against him, her head moving to rest on his shoulder. “And neither of you actually killed Dumbledore. He’s been dying for months and after their latest…trip… he likely wouldn’t have made it through the night, with or without the killing curse.”

Draco stared down at her, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think it matters. It’s the intent that matters and believe me, I very much intended to kill Dumbledore.”

She wanted to argue, to recast his role, but she couldn’t. Hermione had seen the utter ruthlessness in his eyes as he faced down the headmaster. He hadn’t been hesitant; he’d been lethal.

He was silent for a long while. “You know my mother still isn’t safe, not unless I return.”

“I know.” She hated it, but she knew. “We have a plan for that.”

His breath caught as he looked at her, silver irises fractured with hope. “What?”

“Snape and I knew you’d have to return, that the Order of the Phoenix wouldn’t be able to shelter you, even if you hadn’t gone through with it.” Hermione took a deep breath, drawing on the resolve that had brought her this far. “So we decided Snape would train you. You’re already a gifted Occlumens and Legilimens, so it would only take weeks, maybe a month, before you could face Voldemort on your own.”

Draco drew away from her, comprehension flooding his haggard features. “Train me. To become a spy.”

She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t give him a better idea. There were none. “You could get your mother to safety from the inside, likely even your father too.”

“And then what?”

Hermione shrugged. “Then you could decide what to do on your own terms.”

He blinked, surprise flashing behind his silver eyes. “Then I decide.”

“If you want to stay and help the Order you could stay. If you didn’t want to…” she paused, voice laden with emotion. “If you didn’t want to, then you could go. Anywhere in the world you wanted.”

“And leave you to fight that inbreed on your own,” he concluded. “Look what you’ve done for me. You nearly died for me. That’s not a choice at all.”

Hermione sighed, a bloody hand wiping across her face. “The point is that the choice is yours.”

“I never signed up for this.” His expression was guarded, eyes unreadable.

“Did you sign up to kill Dumbledore?”

Draco sighed, his breath warm against her neck. “No, I suppose not. It’s not like you can say no to a madman who views torture as a quiet Sunday afternoon and moves in upstairs.”

“We all do what we must,” Hermione concluded. “What we do to survive, it isn’t who we are.” She told herself that at night, when even the specter of Draco’s lips against her skin wasn’t enough to stave away the doubt.

His lips pressed in narrow line. “I don’t think we get the luxury of believing that. I know I’m a killer, Hermione, and nothing is ever going to take that away.” A hand tangled in his blood-spattered hair. “I may not like it, but there’s no use in denying it.”

“And I’m a liar.” That, above all else, was true. The guilt of leaving Harry washed over her, leaving her stomach churning. He would never forgive her, not this. And she would never expect him to understand that she would do it again, if it meant the boy sitting beside her had life behind his silver eyes. She would do it all and more, die a thousands deaths, scream a million screams, to have him here.

“There are worse things to be, Granger.”

Hermione allowed herself to memorize him, as he truly was. She’d seen glimpses of him before, in the infirmary, by the lake, but never had she felt he was truly there with her. Her breath caught as she realized how impossible it was that they were sitting here, together, if only for this moment.

He raised a silver brow. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure I never forget you.” She already knew the feel of his skin against hers, the wicked heat of his lips, even the scintillating groans wrested from his throat, but not this light illuminating him, making him so utterly human. He met her stare, his breath catching. Her pulse jumped as he traced a finger down her damp cheek.

“Do you ever wonder if it would all have different if there was no Dark Lord?” Hermione blinked at him. He dropped his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s a stupid question.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s not stupid. I don’t know. Would you have still called me a filthy Mudblood?”

A veil fell behind his eyes, the light dimming. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s been a pureblood belief far longer than he’s been around. I’m sure you’ve read all about Slytherin and his beliefs.”

Hermione couldn’t help the curiosity that rose. She’d never asked before, never had stood on even enough ground with him to consider posing the question. “Do you believe in blood purity?”

Draco was silent, his exhausted eyes searching hers. She refused to blink. He owed her an answer. “I don’t know. I believe in the power of magical blood. I’m not going to be signing up to be a muggle lover anytime soon…” he trailed off, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “But I can’t deny that you’re a more skilled witch than nearly anyone I’ve met, pureblood or no. I know you’re better than me in a million ways and maybe I hate you for that. I want you to be lesser because otherwise what does that say about me?”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but Hermione would take it. “It says you’re human.”

“Bloody lot of good that has done me,” he muttered, weariness overwhelming the words. She shifted to lean against him, her cheek pressing against his shoulder. His breath ghosted across her face in quiet puffs. An owl cried in the darkness.

“I have to go.”

Hermione wanted to protest, to hold him against her until the pieces of her soul had mended again. But they had no such luxury and too much time had already withered away.

So they walked shoulder to shoulder through the claustrophobic tunnels to the Whomping Willow, the rustle of the wind in the trees their only companion. From there they headed beyond the lake until they stood beside the scarred tree and unmarked graves.

“Meet Snape at Spinner’s End.” That was all the professor had told her.

Draco didn’t bother to ask for details. His fingers lightly traced her jaw, his eyes fathomless. “I wish I could say… but I don’t, Hermione, I wish I did…”

“You might one day.”

She already knew he didn’t love her, couldn’t love her, not now. But maybe someday he would look at her with only warmth in his silver eyes instead of this hopeless chaos. And she would wait because she had already made her peace. Draco could not change who he was any more than she could stop the sands of time, time turner or no.

He sighed, his face harder now, eyes dimmer. His hand caught hers as he stepped back. “One day.”

“May we meet again, Draco Malfoy.”

His silver eyes swirled, emotion flooding them, and then they were steel. Her breath caught as he transformed, the ice chasing away the light once more. Hermione hated that he would be taken from her now, when she had only just revealed the boy behind those metallic eyes.

There was no guarantee she would see him again, Hermione realized. Snape was a consummate Occlumens, but the ground they stood on was shakier than ever. Draco’s burden was immense, his family’s safety now threatened by his relationship with Hermione. Even the slightest hint of her in his mind and it would all unravel. He would do better to forget her, to let the spark between them fade. She prayed he would, hoped he couldn’t.

“We will.”

Then he was striding into the Forbidden Forest, his robes billowing behind him. All she could see was the glimmer of his platinum hair illuminated by the haunting moonlight. And then he was gone. An owl screeched again in the night as chills cascaded down her spine.


	24. Twenty Four

**~*~Twenty Four~*~**

 

The first tendrils of drawn were clawing at the horizon as Hermione approached the crowd gathered at the base of the Astronomy Tower. Nearly the entire student body stood in a ring, leaving no doubt as to their focus. She weaved her way between shocked faces, sobs echoing in every direction. The sight of him on the ground turned her stomach again, despite knowing exactly what she would find. Someone had closed his eyes, sparing her the guilt of looking into them again.

Professor McGonagall was attempting to send the youngest students back to their dorms, but no one was moving. Hermione scanned the crowd until she found Harry’s green eyes searing into her from across the circle. Her heart stuttered, guilt paralyzing her. He held her gaze as he moved around the perimeter, the fury holding her firmly rooted.

“We need to talk.” His voice was disturbingly clam, no hint of the fire raging behind his eyes. “Now.”

“Fine,” she managed to murmur, her voice barely holding together.

“Not here.”

He turned toward the castle entrance and she followed. Hermione trailed him silently, the tension mounting with each step. The air between them was nearly crackling by the time Harry turned to face her in front of the Room of Requirement.

“I believe you have something to show me.” His wand twitched between his fingers. Hermione inhaled sharply, the shock of the gesture cutting deep. But why would he trust her now? The last time he’d seen her she’d disarmed and stunned him.

Hermione paced in front of the blank wall, conjuring the room of hidden things. Once the door materialized, she led Harry through the maze of clutter to the Vanishing Cabinet. The door hung open, swinging gently with an invisible breeze.

“This is how.” Her voice sounded strange, detached.

Harry stared at the cabinet, slowly approaching it. “There’s a twin at Borgin and Burke’s. We saw them inspecting it before term started.” He circled it, his wand scraping against the wood. His green eyes bore into her as he emerged again. “You knew about this.”

It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”

His hand buried in his wild hair, the betrayal in his eyes eating through her. “You knew Malfoy was letting the Death Eaters into the school and you did nothing… no, not nothing. You bloody helped him do it. Did he ask you to be there when Dumbledore and I returned? Are you bloody imperio’d? Because nothing else makes even the slightest sense.”

“Draco never made me do anything. And I didn’t help him.” Harry’s expression indicated he very much doubted that. “I didn’t. I was there because of Snape.”

“Snape? What does he have to do with any of this?” Confusion warred with rage on his face.

Of course. He hadn’t actually seen Snape or the other Death Eaters, but had likely heard of their arrival in the aftermath. “Snape and I agreed to work together to protect Draco and follow Dumbledore’s wishes.”

“You can’t seriously be telling me Dumbledore wanted Hogwarts to be invaded by torture happy madmen and to be killed by Draco Malfoy,” Harry scoffed.

“Not Draco.” It was only half a lie, and one she would repeat until it became truth. “Snape. Snape killed Dumbledore.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “You were working with Snape. That means… you were plotting his death?”

The disgust marring his gentle features was enough to make her want to crawl into the Vanishing Cabinet and never return again. “He was already dying, Harry. Dumbledore was already dying every day since he’d destroyed the Gaunt ring. Snape was helping, but the end was near. I imagine your trip to retrieve another Horcrux had likely already sealed his fate that night.”

“Even if that were true, and I’m finding it very hard to believe anything you say, Hermione, since you’ve been lying to my face for months, there was no reason for Snape to murder him.” Harry’s arms crossed, his wand twirling between his fingers as he incinerated her with his glare.

Hermione forced herself not to shirk away from him. She found it highly unlikely Harry would accept the explanation she was about to give, but it, for once, was the truth. “Draco. We wanted to save Draco and his mother. Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy. He promised to protect Draco during his mission to kill Dumbledore. Once Snape realized I knew about Draco, he approached me.

“Don’t think I was happy to agree to this, Harry,” she implored. “I hated every minute I couldn’t tell you the truth, but Draco’s life was on the line and I knew Dumbledore had ordered Snape to take his life if such a scenario occurred. We made the best out of a terrible situation.”

“Draco’s life was on the line,” Harry spat. “Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger? I could understand back when you assured me he wasn’t a Death Eater, but now? Now that I know the truth? You’ve lost your bloody mind and I can’t even to begin to imagine that you were thinking.”

Hermione bore the weight of his judgment. “I’m in love with him, Harry.”

“What?”

The word echoed through the cavernous room. She hadn’t thought Harry could look more repulsed, but she’d clearly been mistaken. Her pulse hammered against her throat, but she didn’t look away. “You heard me.”

“He’s called you a Mudblood for years, he’s done nothing but berate you and treat you like the scum beneath his boots. How could you possibly love him, Hermione? He’s atrocious to you.”

The worst part was that Harry was right. Even tonight Draco had tortured and nearly killed her. That was beyond atrocious, but she didn’t care. She had broken into his soul and if a brush with death had been the price, she would submit to it a million times over. That’s what love did; it threw logic out the window and remade the world in inexplicable ways.

“I can’t explain it to you,” Hermione confessed. “I can’t make you understand because even I don’t understand. But I know him, not that mask he wears, but him, and he’s not good or bad, Harry, he’s just human. No different than you or I.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.” The repulsion still clung to his features. “You’ll also excuse me if I don’t believe a word you say. Whatever is there, Hermione, I hope it’s worth the cost of our friendship.”

She wished she could be surprised, or even upset at his bitter words. Instead she only felt infinite relief. She loved Harry and she would always fight for him, but the lies had been tearing her apart. He would never accept her feelings for Draco, especially after what he had seen at the tower, and she could hardly blame him for drawing a line between them. Perhaps someday, if they made it out of the war alive, the wound would heal. Until then she would do her best to protect the boy she loved and help the Boy Who Lived.

Her sigh was weary, bone deep. “I’m sorry to hear that. You know I will still do whatever I can to help the Order and you, regardless of my feelings.”

“Your feelings seem to have led to Dumbledore’s murder,” Harry retorted, green eyes flashing.

“Harry, I want Voldemort dead as much as you do; even more so now that he holds Draco’s life in his hands. I will help you track down and destroy the remaining Horcruxes. If you need proof I’ll make the Unbreakable Vow.” Hermione moved to stand beside him, doing her best to ignore the poison his eyes exuded. She was not about to let this rift destroy their mission. Voldemort kept on taking from her and she was tired of it. The bastard had it coming and she would work tirelessly to ensure he ended up as worm food.

Harry’s jaw worked, the muscles straining. “Fine, but only for research of Horcruxes. Dumbledore instructed me to keep them secret from the Order and we’re going to need someone to help research while Ron and I search. So, fine, but it’s strictly professional. Don’t expect me to keep this from Ron either.”

At this point, Hermione hardly cared what he told Ron. What was another bridge burned? She hated it, but she hardly had the energy to fight it. She pulled her robes further around her, the tattered shirt and skirt hidden below. She hadn’t bothered to transfigure the ruined clothes before her return to the castle and no one had looked closely enough to notice them beneath her clasped robe.

Hermione suddenly wished very dearly for a steaming bath and a warm bed. She had given everything today and there was no fight left, no energy to meet Harry’s charged glare. So she hung her head, and murmured, “Fine.”

“Goodbye, Granger.”

The words were wrong, discordant, from his mouth. Harry lingered for a long moment, before turning away and disappearing into the rubble. Hermione sank down across from the Vanishing Cabinet and let the tears break free, her battered form rocking with sobs until all she could see was the blur of the water and the infinite silence swallowed even her tears.


	25. Twenty Five

**~*~Twenty Five~*~**

The day of the funeral was cloudy, the June warmth giving way to a chill that clung to Hermione’s bones. Classes had been canceled and examinations postponed until after. Perhaps in a different world that would have mattered to her, but now she could hardly work up the energy to care about a final examination. She would spend the time revising after the ceremony, but it would be a half-hearted effort at best.

The gulf between Hermione and the Gryffindor students had widened as the preparations wore on. She assumed Harry had spread the new of her apparent betrayal far and wide. None of the staff had approached her, so it appeared only the student body was convinced that Hermione Granger had played a part in Draco Malfoy’s plot.

She’d spent most of her meals with Luna in the Ravenclaw Tower and her free time staring at the marred tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the sorrowful lament of Fawkes in the sky her only company.

She hadn’t heard a word from Snape or Draco, but that was to be expected. It would be impossible for them to send an owl and any other form of communication was just as likely to put them at risk. So she sat beside the tree and imagined that Draco was safe until she almost believed it.

Luna’s total lack of judgment was perhaps the only thing sustaining her now. The blonde had clearly heard the rumors, but she’d never stopped smiling at Hermione, her kind eyes a balm against the rising storm. Hermione had no idea what she’d have done without Luna’s eccentric support.

She’d been an island unto herself for so long, but it had worn her down, made her feel a mere shadow of her former self. So she listened to Luna talk about fantastic creatures that likely didn’t exist and nodded at the appropriate times, no matter how outlandish the claim.

The funeral had drawn guests from far and near, members of the Ministry and the Order as well as many others Hermione could not begin to recognize. She sat with Luna in the back, far away from the Gryffindor contingent along the lake.

The ceremony itself was all pomp and circumstance, so very unlike Dumbledore that Hermione felt he would have hated it. Fawkes’ cries echoed off the rolling hills, the sound of sorrow reverberating through Hermione. When the stout man conducting the ceremony finally stepped away from the platform the keen abruptly ceased. Then there was an explosion of light as the phoenix soared above Dumbledore’s body, launching for the heavens. When the conflagration cleared, there was a white marble tomb encasing the body, sparkling in splendid contrast to the gray skies.

The guests began to disperse, some heading to the reception in the Great Hall, others moving beyond the wards to disapparate. Hermione and Luna remained seated until their peers had departed. Only then did Hermione walk toward the shore of the lake, its dark waters swallowing her reflection.

Luna followed silently behind her, pale blue eyes distracted by aquatic creatures Hermione could only imagine. The girls stood by the shore of the lake, the water gently lapping at their shoes.

“Do you think we’ll survive this war?” It was a question she’d hardly dared to think about. But now there was only war stretching before them and Hermione couldn’t help but ask.

Luna frowned, her bright eyes sharp as she looked at Hermione. “I think so. I know there’s no evidence, but I truly think we’ll find a way.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

Hermione knew what it was like to believe, beyond all reason, but the last week had taken a toll on her psyche. With Draco’s status unknown and Snape decidedly absent, she’d been left with no allies. It didn’t help that Harry spent half of his time telling any Order member or Ministry Official that Severus Snape had murdered Dumbledore in cold blood. While she was glad the official blame had fallen squarely on Snape’s shoulders, it gave her no joy to hear him endlessly maligned by the student body. Except, of course, the Slytherins, but no matter her history with Draco Malfoy, Hermione was not approaching the den of snakes. Draco clearly hadn’t fully bought in to either Voldemort or Blood Purity, but there were plenty of members of his house that were true believers. She had no interest in discovering whom.

The panicked urgency that had driven her to protect Draco no longer helped her. Now she only worried, clinging to every memory of him, reliving their unions until she could feel his flesh against hers. He had been torn from her and she had no idea who she was without him. It had been easy to maintain her purpose when he breathed the same air, but now he was a lifetime away, perhaps even dead. Her stomach churned at the thought of his lifeless silver eyes and she shoved the thought away, just as she had the multitude of other times.

“He’s alive, Hermione.” Despite her whimsical nature, Luna could be dangerously perceptive sometimes.

Hermione refused to give in to the water gathering in her eyes. “You don’t know that. We don’t even know if Snape’s alive let alone Draco. It’s a bloody mess.”

Luna was silent for a long time, her shoe drawing evanescent pictures across the water’s surface. “You don’t get to understand everything, Hermione. We can’t know everything; we can’t always make the right choice. So we must have faith instead.”

It was a disturbingly insightful comment for a girl who chased invisible creatures on a daily basis. Hermione sighed. Luna was right, and not for the first time. She wanted there to be a way to predict the future, to have logic make clear the path to take. But that was impossible. Nothing was logical anymore, not her love for Draco, not her actions with Snape and certainly not Voldemort’s manic quest for power. There was no sense left at all, and that left her stranded, unable to reason her way to a solution.

“Having faith is hard,” Hermione admitted. She felt he was alive, but there was no way she could truly know. There was only the burning of her soul at the thought of him lost to her. “I want to believe, but with no evidence, I can’t. He could be dead or worse and I’d never know for weeks, maybe even months.”

“What do you feel?” Luna’s pale eyes were gentle now.

“He’s alive.”

Luna nodded. “Then he’s alive. Trust your instincts, Hermione.”

Hermione stared at the clouds limping across the gray sky, so close to the silver of his eyes. She only wanted to know that he was safe, that his mother was safe and that someday soon he could be released from his prison. Hermione had stopped hoping to feel his skin against her again, his hot breath caressing her lips. It was too much to dream of now. She would be satisfied with the memories of their time together, if only he lived.


	26. Twenty Six

**~*~Twenty Six~*~**

 

12 Grimmauld Place smelled permanently of musty books and peeling wallpaper, but Hermione had grown fond of it in her three months of residency. The library was not huge, but had enough volumes to keep her occupied when she wasn’t researching the latest Horcrux theory. The dusty volumes had become trusted companions, their musty odor familiar and calming.

The Order kept only three of them there permanently: Lupin, Tonks and herself. Others would come and go often, staying in the myriad of spare bedrooms the Ancient House of Black had to offer. Occasionally, Hermione ate with the visitors, but only if Harry and any of the Weasleys were absent. There had been a spectacular fight with Ron in the drawing room that had ensured they would never speak again, at least not in this lifetime. Harry, despite the constant disgust etched across his features, still talked to her. It was never pleasant or lengthy, but he seemed to understand she was their best shot at destroying the Horcruxes. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to sit down to dinner across from him.

Lupin and Tonks occasionally eyed her with pity, clearly believing she’d been duped into helping Draco and Snape complete their mission. She hadn’t bothered to correct them and hadn’t answered any of Moody’s questions during her brief interrogation by the order. Silence clearly hadn’t been good enough, but a quick foray into her mind had Moody assuring the others she was trustworthy. Hermione hadn’t known whether to be mortified or relieved that he knew the lengths she had gone to because of her unrequited love for Draco. In any case, that had ended the interrogation and now the Order members either eyed her with pity or simply didn’t look at her at all.

She read books instead of talking to people, content to lose herself in the history of the Goblin Rebellions or even the trashy romances Ginny left behind. Anything was better than the pity or the constant vice of terror that slowly constricted with each passing day.

Months had passed, 123 days to be exact, since she’d last felt Draco’s hand slip from hers and watched him disappear into the forest. Her memories were blurred now, more brief impressions than flesh and blood. She’d thought of pulling some of them and placing them in vials to use with a Pensieve, but she didn’t have a Pensieve and the mere thought of someone finding the vials kept her from following through. So he faded, until all that was left was the haunting stare of his silver eyes in her dreams and the ghost of the memory of his lips upon hers.

More often than not she dreamt of his lifeless eyes staring back at her. She avoided sleep now, even more than when he’d first haunted her dreams. Occasionally, when the exhaustion had reached an apex, she filched a bottle of dreamless sleep from the makeshift infirmary they’d set up in one of the house’s many parlors. Of the 123 nights since she’d seen him, she’d slept perhaps 25 of them. No one noticed, or if they did, they didn’t care.

Hermione had lost her status as Harry Potter’s brilliant muggle-born friend. Now she was the wraith in the corner researching topics no one in the Order cared about. It didn’t help that Harry steadfastly refused to share their knowledge of the Horcruxes. As far as the Order was concerned, Hermione lived at 12 Grimmauld Place doing pretty much nothing beyond helping those returning injured or cursed to headquarters. Hermione had read the entire shelf of medical magic books and could at least contribute something in that regard. They never sent her to fight, rarely encouraged her to leave the house. She wasn’t a prisoner, but it was clear they didn’t trust her.

When Lupin appeared in the doorway of the library, Hermione paid him no mind. She wasn’t interested in his pity tonight. But he lingered longer than usual, his presence finally compelling her to look up from her latest book on dark artifacts and the means of their destruction.

“A message arrived,” Lupin explained, a hand rubbing his brow. “A Patronus actually. I believe it was meant for you.”

Hermione was on her feet, brushing past him into the hall. “Where is it?”

Lupin shook his head. “That’s the thing, it wasn’t sent to you or me, but rather to the house. We’re lucky it found me instead of…”

“Never mind about that,” Hermione retorted, her pulse rising with each passing breath. “What did it say, Lupin?”

“To go to Spinner’s End, as soon as the moon rises tonight.”

A gasp escaped her lips. She could hardly believe the words coming out of Lupin’s mouth. An invitation to Spinner’s End meant Snape was likely alive and that was more than she’d had in months. “Do you know who sent it?”

She waited with bated breath for his answer, but Lupin shook his head. “It was a doe, just like Lily Potter’s, but I don’t know anyone still alive with that form. I’m sorry, Hermione.”

It was as if a bucket of cold water had crashed over her head. What if it wasn’t from either Draco or Snape? What if it was a trap, sent to the Order headquarters to lure them out into the open? Her temples throbbed as she considered the possible scenarios. It could be a trap, she realized, but she would still risk it. Months without word from them and now, finally, this flimsy piece of evidence. She would take the chance if it meant she might see Draco again or even Snape.

Lupin followed her as she rushed up the stairs to the room she’d claimed. She’d never bothered to put anything on the walls and the room looked the same as any other in the long hallway. He paused, leaning against the doorjamb, but not entering.

“What are you doing, Hermione?”

She cast him an annoyed glance. “What does it look like I’m doing? It’s only an hour, maybe two, before moonrise and there is no way I’m missing this chance.”

“I can’t let you go.”

Hermione paused, turning the full weight of her stare upon him. “Excuse me?”

“The Order has determined that you are not allowed contact with anyone who might be Severus Snape or Draco Malfoy. This, although it has an unknown origin, certainly seems to be a message that could be from either of them.” Lupin didn’t look particularly happy to be the messenger.

Hermione’s wand dropped into her hand as she moved to stand directly in front of him. “No offence, Lupin, but you can’t keep me here. I can force my way out, which I really don’t want to do, or you can just let me go. I’ve never been a traitor to the Order and I’m certainly not about to start tonight. Think whatever you want about me, but I know where I stand.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he argued. “Your emotions are standing in the way of your common sense.”

Hermione hadn’t felt this offended in months, maybe years. Her voice was pure acid when she finally could speak through the rage. “My emotions are none of your business, Lupin.”

“They are when they involve Draco Malfoy.” So Moody had told everyone. She’d suspected, but it hurt just the same to have the confirmation.

“I respect you, Professor Lupin, I really do, but I will not stand here and be condescended to. I have stood up to much more challenging tests than escaping this house. You get to choose. Do you want to make this terrible for all of us or do you want to just let me go. Because I am going to this meeting, no matter which you choose.” She did her best to temper her tone, but the simmering rage clung to every word.

He blinked at her, his expression a mix of surprise and exhaustion. “I can’t let you go…”

“Fine,” she murmured. “You won’t have to. _Stupefy_.”

Lupin dropped like a boulder into her arms, sending her staggering backwards into the bed. She managed to arrange him somewhat respectably on the floor before she resumed the task of donning simple black robes over her jumper and jeans. The warmth of summer still lingered in the air outside, but the House of Black was always abysmally cold. She pulled on a black traveling cloak, pulling the hood low over her face. Hermione planned on disillusioning herself as much as possible, but it was best to have a secondary disguise if needed.

Wand gripped tightly in hand, she made her way through the empty halls of Grimmauld Place, swinging the door shut behind her as she stepped onto the terrace. Disillusionment spell cast, she moved away from the house, taking a moment to collect herself.

It was a little less than an hour until moonrise and there was no point in showing up at Spinner’s End before the allotted time. So she wandered aimlessly through muggle London. The muggles couldn’t see through the charm, which left her free to do as she pleased. It was a relief to escape the piteous stares, to have no one pretend not to see her.

Hermione twirled ridiculously in front of a muggle clothing store, pretending she was wearing one of the floral dresses in the window. What would life be if she’d never manifested her magic?

Would she be deciding which universities to apply to? Maybe she’d even look abroad and study in Australia so her parents could finally make the move they’d always dreamt of. Perhaps there would be a handsome boy to bring home, to laugh with at the cinema and cheer with at football matches. Maybe she’d marry him and they’d settle in a country cottage where she’d tend the garden and write long histories to be published far and wide. Maybe she would be happy.

And maybe that would be better, but she would never choose that life, not now. It wasn’t just that she knew of the threat to the muggle and magical worlds alike, but rather that the thought of not knowing Draco was impossible. Despite the chaos he had wrought within her, she would not give up a single one of their moments together for some imagined bliss. He had rewritten her, turned her definitions of the world on their head and made her become someone stronger.

Hermione couldn’t hate him, or even reproach him, for his violent actions, even when they ended in her suffering. He was a caged bird learning how to sing, and she would endure all forms of torment to see him finally fly. She knew such a viewpoint wasn’t wise, but he had taught her that faith superseded reason in matters of the soul.

Even as her hope had petered away, Hermione had never truly been able to give up, to surrender the inevitable truth of his disappearance. And her unsubstantiated faith had not failed her, not when she was minutes away from arriving on Snape’s doorstep. And if it was a trap then she would face that too. If the path led her to him, if only for a moment, it was worth the sacrifice.

She had no illusions that he would move the world for her, but she would never stop moving it for him. Unhealthy, they whispered while she pretended to read at Grimauld Place and logically, she couldn’t disagree. But logic had been flung out the window the moment she’d dragged her blood-covered hands down his pristine white shirt in the Restricted Section. He’d ignited a fire within her that she was unwilling to extinguish.

A hint of fall tainted the late summer breeze as she paused at the gate of a city park, the orb of the moon emerging on the horizon beyond the swings. She swallowed, the air cloying in her nervous lungs.

The disorienting swirl of apparition left her doubly nauseous as she appeared several blocks from Spinner’s End. She’d never actually been to Snape’s abode, but she’d heard enough from Harry and others to surmise its location. The moon had fully materialized now, its bright light casting haunting shadows as she moved surreptitiously through the night.

The door was ajar, pale light tracing patterns on the stone walk. She considered knocking, but decided against it. If it was all going south, she’d rather it be on her terms. The hinges creaked like dying rodents as she pushed her way into the hovel. She paused, expecting movement from within, but the parlor was empty. She journeyed further, following the trail of lanterns until she was in a room beyond the kitchen. Books lined the walls and cluttered the tables.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

Her eyes flew up, finally finding his silhouette by the window, his platinum hair an ethereal halo. It was wilder now, brushing his collar and hiding his eyes. If she had thought he was gaunt at Hogwarts, it was nothing in comparison to the sharp edges of his cheekbones now.

She wanted to run to him, but her feet remained firmly in place. Draco shifted, the moonlight spilling across his mercurial eyes. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. His eyes had been frozen during his last months at school, but now they were misted over, impossible to read. It was like looking at a stranger despite his familiar features. Her hand clenched more firmly around her wand.

“You do still enjoy reading.” His voice was devoid of emotion, as if the subject was dreadfully boring.

Hermione nodded, edging closer to him. His luminescent eyes remained clouded, giving nothing away. “I still read.”

When she said nothing else, he walked over to the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Snape told me to give you this; that you would explain what it was.”

He placed a necklace on the table between them, eyes never leaving her face. Hermione stepped closer, her breath catching as she realized what lay between them. The glittering green gems in the shape of an ‘S’ left no doubt that this was Slytherin’s Locket. The real one, she realized. The Horcrux.

She looked up abruptly, meeting his enigmatic gaze. “Where did you get this?”

“Why does it matter?” he countered, his long fingers brushing across the clasp.

“Answer my question and I promise I’ll answer all of yours.” Her eyes had returned to the locket, her pulse racing as its reality settled within her. Draco had brought her a Horcrux and that meant that Snape had entrusted him with it and all the knowledge that entailed. The professor might not have given him the details yet, but he’d given Hermione permission to bring Draco into the fold. And that meant one thing; Draco had chosen.

He had chosen to help, to destroy Voldemort and all he stood for. It was nearly impossible to believe, but he was standing across from her with a piece of Voldemort’s soul between them and there could be no other explanation.

If her pulse had skyrocketed at the sight of the locket, it was in orbit as she recognized the truth of his choice. She’d alternately hoped he would disappear and prayed he would stay.

He was far from safe, especially once he learned the details of the Horcruxes, but there was nothing she could do about that. Her only weapon was now her books and the eventual destruction of the Horcruxes she would engineer.

“Snape found it in a house over the summer. He didn’t give me the details, told me it was safer that way until I was prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

Draco’s lips twitched and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, but then he spoke, his eyes suddenly sharp. “To face the Dark Lord and live.”

Of course. Snape had promised to train Draco to follow in his footsteps. It likely would have taken months to become the consummate Occlumens he needed to be. “And have you? Faced him…”

“On a near daily basis since Potter escaped from his bloody aunt’s house and the snake bastard decided to blame it on all of us.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “According to him, I’m one of the only ones competent enough to be tasked with important missions beyond the basic rabblerousing that keeps the rest of them in check.”

Hermione stared at him, her stomach dropping. She’d expected him to find a way to keep his head down, to survive the Death Eaters while it was necessary and then find his way out. “He sends you on… missions?”

“Yes and often.” He put a hand up, his features momentarily pained. “Don’t ask, Granger. Please don’t ask. Whatever you’re imagining, it’s a thousand times more gruesome.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Guilt curdled within her gut. If only he’d had a different path, if only…

“I know what you’re thinking and it’s rubbish,” his voice was tinged with emotion for the first time that night. “I got myself here and I am the only one responsible for my actions. And to be honest, I’m good at it, Granger. I’m bloody good at killing and torturing and all those other reprehensible things. Don’t forget, don’t think for a minute I’m good, Hermione.”

Her name was a curse on his lips, all the softness missing. She trembled, dropping into a chair across from him. She knew, she’d always known, but she also knew the boy trapped behind the mist and ice. Was he even still there? Or had she handed him over to Voldemort to have his soul obliterated entirely? She’d trusted that Snape could keep him safe, but she’d never thought to ask if he could keep Draco human.

She looked away, her tired eyes studying the glimmering gems of Slytherin’s locket instead. What was done was done and there was still the matter of destroying the Horcruxes no matter if Draco Malfoy was truly lost or no. So she spoke, her voice hollow, until she’d told him about the scattered pieces of soul and their quest to destroy them. Until she could almost pretend he was the boy on the tower, so long ago, not with his wand at Dumbledore’s chest, but instead hands tangling in her hair as he showed her a proper snogging. Or the boy in the Potion’s classroom, reacting to her every move. Most especially the boy crying over her battered body, drowning in his own humanity.

When she was done, Hermione still couldn’t bear look at him. She could hear him move from the other side of the table, feel the heat of him radiating beside her, but she could not meet his treacherous eyes.

His voice was a low rumble beside her ear. “Look at me.”

“I can’t,” she admitted.

“Hermione.” This time her name was softer, a caress against her neck. “Please.” She couldn’t deny him. His expression was broken, his eyes almost warm. His fingers traced a dangerous path across her cheek, her breath catching as his thumb brushed across her lips.

“Hermione, I can’t lie to you. Not after what we’ve been though.” His hand fell to rest at her clavicle, the heat of it searing into her. “I can’t tell you I’m going to make all the right choices. I can’t tell you I’m not going to kill or torture. I won’t hide that from you. But I promise, I will help you defeat him. You may not like who I am on the other side, but we will get to the other side.”

Hermione kissed him then, unable to hold herself back from the siren call of his lips. She kissed him until his words ceased to have meaning and all that existed was the burn of his lips against hers.

Draco didn’t stop her, didn’t caution her, didn’t do anything but let her burn. His hands trailed sparks across her skin, his lips writing impossible stories. She surrendered completely, letting him obliterate her with every tantalizing caress. Her breath became his, her body trembling and shaking in a pleasure only he could evoke. Each caress was a prayer, a promise of her salvation.

It was different than before. They had been frightened schoolchildren, afraid of discovery, unsure of each other. Their innocence was gone now, but in its place came a deeper connection, a willingness to take the time to truly explore each other. Time disappeared as he patiently made his way over every inch of her, his lips branding her a million times over. Her clothes were long forgotten as her eyes drowned in quicksilver pools.

Their souls intermingled and were created anew as their flesh came together. There was nothing but Draco, he filled every sense, became her world. There was no space for doubt, or hope or even love. It was greater than the sum of the pieces, more monumental than she could ever describe. She floated above herself, lost in the blissful haze, content to fall to pieces in his arms.

When the final dregs of pleasure had finally faded from her limbs, she simply stared at him. All reason had long fled her mind and now there was only the absolute truth of him within her, swimming through her veins, forever encapsulated in her soul. She clung to the moment, praying it would stretch to eternity.

But it was a moment like any other, fleeting and insubstantial. His pale skin was luminous by the light of the moon, his features ghostly. Hermione was silent as he pulled away from her, his shirt in hand. She watched him dress, drinking in the sight with indulgent eyes.

“I shouldn’t linger,” he admitted, sitting next to her on the couch they’d desecrated. His voice was liquid honey, reigniting the kindling of her desire.

“Wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?” The words were out of her mouth before she could think to stop them.

Draco stared at her, his silver eyes driving chaos through her heart. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but deep. “What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?”

It was her turn to stare, breath caught in her throat. It was a muggle quote, a muggle playwright, nothing he should have known. Her lips moved of their own accord. “The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.”

“I can’t be your Juliet, Hermione.” There was such profound sorrow within his silver orbs. “Any more than you can be my Romeo. And besides, it didn’t exactly turn out that well for either of them.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had no desire to find herself beside his corpse, but if she did, perhaps Juliet hadn’t had the wrong idea. A bitter tang coated her mouth. “Then what, Draco? What are we doing?”

The icy mist had already begun to descend. “Surviving. That’s what we do. Survive.”

Hermione wanted to protest, to tell him that was a bitter pill indeed, that life was flat and colorless without him by her side. But she nodded instead, burying that spark as far as she would dare.

“I have some questions about the Horcruxes.” He was all business now, his gaunt features drawn in thought, his eyes lost to her once more. She pulled her clothes on quickly, the summer breeze suddenly chilling. When Hermione was decent again, she moved to sit across from him. They were only a meter from each other, but it might as well have been a continent.

“Alright.” Her voice sounded stiff, fragile in all the wrong ways.

“So the ring Dumbledore destroyed, it cursed him when he did it. And I assume that was also why he was so weak when he returned with Potter that night.” That night he killed Dumbledore, that night he sprayed her blood across the floor, that night she finally found him. He continued. “I assume the others will have similar traps and curses. Do we have a better way of destroying them than self-sacrifice?”

Hermione stared at books above his head. “Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of research… not that Harry would ever let me do anything else, and I’ve come across some useful information. Goblin-forged metals can be imbued with the powers of the objects or creatures they destroy. So when Harry used the Sword of Griffindor to kill the basilisk second year, it probably gained the potency of the venom. And the venom, it’s been rumored, can destroy the casing of the Horcrux beyond repair, which destroys it entirely. The only problem is getting the sword or even a real basilisk fang.”

“The issue of the Dark Lord running the school in all but name,” he murmured.

Her heart skipped a beat. “But what about you?”

“Me?” He was uncertain for only a moment before comprehension dawned. “No, Granger. It’s too risky… he still doesn’t trust me after it took so long for Snape to appear with me after Dumbledore’s death.”

Hermione sighed, her hands twisting in frustrated patterns in her lap. “Okay, but what about later? We haven’t even found any of the others. By the time we do find them, maybe you would be able to try.”

“I can’t make you any promises, but keep me informed.” A hand tangled in his unruly hair. “We need a way to communicate.”

She thought they did a pretty poor job of it but that wasn’t what he meant. “How often?”

“Only when I have information for you.”

“I can’t contact you?” It wasn’t surprising, but it stung just the same. But what else had she been doing if not perfecting the art of waiting for him?

His eyes thawed a hair. “It’s not safe. I’m barely surviving, I won’t pull you down with me.”

“A protean charm.” She’d used them with the DA in fifth year. It was subtle and would likely fly under the radar of even the Dark Lord and his minions.

He nodded. “I’m familiar, I… communicated with Madam Rosmerta using one.”

The bitterness was back in her mouth. “When you imperio’d her.”

Draco didn’t bother to deny it. “Yes.”

“Lovely,” she muttered.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sugarcoat it.” His tone was mild, but his eyes were colder now, poor imitations of the luminous silver she’d surrendered to.

She ignored the twisting in her gut. “Fine. So, do you have an object in mind?”

He reached into a pocket of his dark robes, removing a silver locket with an elaborate ‘H’ on it. Red and green gems glittered in the moonlight, tracing the letter. It was gorgeous. It was too much. Before she could protest, he’d draped and fastened it about her neck. The metal was warm against her skin, still imbued with the heat of him.

“What will you use?” Her hand caressed the necklace, tracing the lines of the shimmering jewels.

A silver coin glistened as he walked it across his knuckles. It looked like any other coin. “I thought it best to use something truly unassuming.”

“But how will you know it’s the right one?”

Draco flipped the coin to land in his palm. He then produced a small pin, pricking the skin adjacent to the coin. As his blood met the metal, the coin began to glow, the silver coating shimmering. “Only my blood activates it. And don’t worry, I don’t plan on putting it in a coin purse and having to douse the whole thing with blood to find it again.”

A wry smile chased across her lips. “I suppose not. So I can’t contact you.”

The humor faded. “No. Don’t attempt to contact either Snape or I. And don’t come here unless we ask you to. Wormtail often resides here and avoiding that rat is what’s best for all of us.”

The moon was at its apex now, the night half wasted. Hermione moved to stand beside the window. “So I suppose this is goodbye.”

The scent of cedar washed over her as he moved to stand behind her. She wanted nothing more than to melt into him, but she didn’t move.

“Hermione…” her name was so many things at once, but none that mattered.

“I know your answer hasn’t changed.” His answer to her prayers, to the darkest hopes that rattled in her soul.

His breath was fire on her neck. “Don’t wait for me.”

“That’s one promise you know I won’t make.” She spun abruptly to face him, his luminous eyes now millimeters from hers.

“I’m not the person you want me to be.” And in that, perhaps, he was right. It would be easier if he didn’t have darkness clinging to him, if his tumultuous eyes didn’t succumb to the icy veneer that cut him off from the world. But without the darkness, there was no Draco Malfoy. There was no man that devastated her so wickedly and completely and left her hanging on the brink of perfection.

“You’re wrong.” Her conviction was absolute. “You’re exactly who I need.”

He looked away first. “We can’t. Especially not now.”

She caressed his hollow cheek, fingers memorizing the satin texture of his skin. “Then we survive until later.”

Hermione turned back to the moon. The war stretched out before them, gruesome and deadly. There were no guarantees anymore, no happily ever afters. There was only survival. Draco stayed beside her, his chest pressed firmly against her back until the moon was chased from the sky and there were a thousand tomorrows stretched out before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for going on this journey with me. First, no this is not the end. I'm midway through the sequel, but I don't post anything until I'm done and I've edited the work. So while it is coming, I don't have an exact timeline. 
> 
> Second, thank you for all your feedback and comments, I appreciate all of them, especially those that hold a different point of view. I made some choices here about my characters that reflect the world they are in. In our world, I would never condone some of the actions taken by my characters, but desperate times in a world of fiction allow me a creativity our world does not and should not.


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